The Chosen One
by Mrs. Hiddleston
Summary: When Lord Voldemort goes to Godric Hollow on October 31, 1981, he sees Harry Potter, and is stricken by the magical potential he senses in the boy; instead of attempting to kill him, he takes the boy back to the manor to be raised by Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. Seventeen years later, Harry, Lord Voldemort's right-hand man, discovers everything is not as it seems.
1. Godric's Hollow

**A/N: Hello, folks! It's been a while, I suppose! I tried this idea quite some time ago, and I just didn't have my ideas put together well enough to finish it, so here goes a second **

**attempt, and I'm much more organized this time! I'mactually very excited to get this idea out there, because I've NEVER read another story where, instead of killing Harry,**

**Voldemort takes him in as an apprentice, and that idea is beyond fascinating to me! So here it goes! I really hope y'all and enjoy, and be sure to point out any grammar mistakes or inconsistencies, so I can fix them for you lovelies, seeing as I don't have a Beta!**

**Obviously, this story is AU. This first chapter is _mostly _from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, save for a smidge at the end, which sets up our plot line!**

**Reviews are welcome, but no flames please!**

**Disclaimer: All familiar content belongs to the wonderful and all-powerful J.K. Rowling.**

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Prologue:_ Godric's Hollow_

_The sky was dark as the cloaked figure moved across the street, face hooded. The night was wet and windy. Little muggles in Halloween costumes surrounded him, giggling loudly, making him sick. He moved with power and purpose._

_"Nice costume, mister!"_

_The boy's smile faltered as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, fear clouding his painted face. The boy turned and fled. The Dark Lord fingered his wand, thoughtfully. Deciding it was not worth it, he continued walking. His destination was in sight now, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet. They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist..._

_A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. The father scooped up his son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning._

_The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open._

_He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into he hall. It was easy, too easy. He had not even picked up his wand. _

_"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" _

_Hold him off, without a wand in his hand? Voldemort laughed and cast the curse that ended James Potter's life. _

_The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut. _

_He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear. He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in...She had no wand upon her either._

_He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one wave of his wand, and their she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from the sight she hoped to be chosen instead._

_"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

_"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside, now."_

_"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"_

_"This is my last warning-"_

_"Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy...Not Harry! Not Harry! Please-I'll do anything-"_

_"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" _

_He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all..._

_The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing..._

_He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage-_

_The roar of a motorcycle split through the night air, startling him. He glanced out the window to see a handsome young man with wavy hair, and the large oaf Hagrid. It was now or never; but as he looked down into the child's face, he saw burning curiosity and confusion and..._potential_. Lord Voldemort had never been one for impulsiveness, but his instincts told him that there were other, far more valuable uses for this child than a coffin-filler. For as he gazed down into his piercing green eyes, Lord Voldemort saw himself, with a burning desire to consume knowledge and grow in his wealth of magical ability. He had always liked collecting trophies; whether they be valuable items, or people, and he had a feeling that this boy was a diamond in the rough. He flicked his wand and the child rose several feet in the air. He twisted on the spot, and the two of them disappeared into the night. _


	2. The Boy Who Lived

**A/N: Howdy foks! Here's chapter two! Again, these first few chapters are going to be ridiculously short, just because they're all exposition, but then they will get gradually longer!**

**Enjoy!**

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Lord Voldemort strode across the grounds of the impressive manor, cloak billowing out behind him in his stride. The child was bouncing along a few feet ahead of him, suspended by his wand, giggling merrily, as though his parents had not been murdered minutes before. Upon their entrance, the Death Eaters looked up, snapping to attention immediately. Lucius Malfoy's jaw dropped, and Yaxley stumbled to his feet, gaping at the two of them.

"I thought you were going to kill him?" Lestrange spoke bravely. The Dark Lord's face contorted as the child emitted a loud hiccuping noise, and he propelled him towards Avery.

"I changed my mind. The child, I have realized upon more thoughtful consideration, would be of more use to us...alive." He again propelled the baby towards Avery, who had backed away from him as though he were some dangerous animal. Avery, momentarily forgetting himself, frantically shook his head, before bowing in subjugation.

"With all do respect, my-my Lord, I...I don't want it."

Bellatrix shoved past the men, scowling, and plucked baby Harry out of the air. "Oh, honestly, it's not as if he bites." She, too, however, held the boy a few feet away from her, her nose scrunched up as though she smelled something rotten. "I suppose we will just have to get used to the stench of Muggle in the house." At that moment, Harry blew a rather large spit bubble, his eyes crinkling with joy as he let out a high-pitched squeal of laugther. Against her will, Bellatrix's expression softened. "I suppose you are rather cute, even for a Mudblood's child. I'll put him in the nursery with Draco, is that alright, Cissy?" The blonde hesitated, but one look from her sister made her comply quickly.

Voldemort's gaze followed Bellatrix as she left the room with the child, a frown marring his face

"If I may ask, My Lord...why did you do it?"

Voldemort's frown deepened. "To kill him, along with his parents would be to create a large number of unnecessary enemies within the wizarding world, Lestrange. However, to keep him alive and raise him as one of our own...is to gain a powerful ally. If what the prophesy says is true...if this boy really was to be my downfall...I have just secured my reign, until the end of time."

"And...forgive me, my Lord...but, what should happen if he does choose to turn on us...when he is older?"

Voldemort blinked, giving Lestrange a cruel smile that made the smaller man shiver.

"Simple. We kill him."


	3. Special

**A/N: Okay, here's the next chapter! It's a bit longer, because we're finally getting out of the exposition. I hope y'all are enjoying it, and please continue to leave your lovely reviews!**

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**Sixteen Years Later**_  
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_He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up as all of his senses went on hyperdrive. It was dark-too dark-and he couldn't see any of his surroundings. All of his training should have been kicking in, he should have been able to locate his wand-constant vigilance-to use his magic to sense his location, and find out what was going on._

_But it was all he could do to breath._

_He heard a noise to his far left, something that sounded like a hiss, and moved towards it. "Nagini?" He breathed into the darkness. "Is that you?"_

_The snake immerged from the black like a ship on a foggy ocean front. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, Nagini," he murmured, reaching out to stroke her familiar scales. "You were starting to make me nervous."_

_She let out a predatorial hiss, snapping at his hand, and he recoiled quickly, his brows furrowing. "Nagini, it's me, Harry!" _

_"Harry Potter." _

_He whirled, pointed his wand into the darkness, his heart pounding against his ribcage. "Who's there?!" He demanded. "I'm warning you-" _

_"Harry Potter."_

_"EEEAAAAAHHH!" He jumped as a loud scream sounded from behind him. A woman with long, red hair collapsed to the ground in front of him. _

_"GO!" On his right, a dark-haired man looked terrorized by something that he could not see. "GO! Take Harry and GO! I'll hold him off!"_

_"Hold who off?" Harry asked desperately. "Who are you?"_

_"Harry Potter." _

Harry sat up quickly, sucking in shallow breaths, attempting to fill his lungs, which, at the moment, felt frighteningly empty. His room looked normal; all the furniture in their normal place, his own reflection staring back at him from the mirror that hung opposite his bed. His mop of curly black hair was tangled from sleep, and his dark brown eyes looked tired and bloodshot. Groaning sleepily, Harry threw the covers off and swung his feet over the edge of the bed.

_Just another day in paradise._

The manor was eerily silent as Harry dressed and made his way downstairs for breakfast. He had not been sitting but a few moments when Dobby appeared beside him with a _crack_, hastily sliding his plate in front of him, steaming and savory.

"Good morning, young Lestrange!" Dobby greeted cheerfully, and Harry could only detect the slightest of wavers in his voice. He smiled at the elf, giving him a nod of appreciation, before hastily digging into his meal. The nightmares, which had been growing steadily more frequent as the years passed, left Harry feeling famished the morning after.

The revered silence was soon broken as Draco, who was home from Hogwarts for Christmas break, stumbled down the stairs, still in his sleeping clothes, his platinum blonde hair in a disarray. "Morning," he mumbled. Dobby reappeared seconds later, sliding a plate nearly identical to Harry's in front of the older boy.

"About time," he muttered gruffly, kicking the house elf from under the table, sending the creature sprawling backwards. Harry winced, but said nothing. "They're supposed to be back today, aren't they?" Draco was now addressing Harry, and the dark-haired boy nodded. "Say, what's got you so quiet this morning?"

Harry debated on telling him that it was the recurring nightmares keeping him up, but decided against it. Draco would only tell Aunt Bella, and the last time that he had told Aunt Bella that he was having these nightmares, she had forced him to drink a dreamless sleep draught until he'd sworn they'd gone away (they hadn't). He didn't want the dreams to stop, he only wanted to figure out what they meant.

After they finished with breakfast, he and Draco headed upstairs to practice their dueling. It was a rule of the Master's that they practice dueling at least two hours a day. He assured them that this was the only way to achieve greatness at the art.

Even though Draco attended Hogwarts, Harry was still quite a bit better at dueling than he. He wasn't sure why, but fighting came naturally to him; he could easily perceive what Draco would do next by the flicker of his gaze or the movement of his arms.

Draco shot a stunner at Harry, but Harry sent out a deflector, effectively stopping the spell before it had come anywhere near him.

"He's reading you like an open book, Draco."

The two boys whipped towards the door. The Master leaned against the doorframe, his eyes surveying the scene before him in a leisurely, almost bored manner. "If you ever want to be proficient in dueling, you have to learn to mask your feelings, your emotions...for example..." Without so much as a warning, the Master flicked his wrist, and Harry was flung backwards, hitting the padded wall hard and knocking the air out of his lungs. Draco, whose face had been pinkening from the reprimandation, grinned with glee, still chortling as he passed Harry and left the room.

Harry rubbed his shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the fall, wistfully, shooting a sharp glare up at the Master, who looked amused, and made no movement to help him to his feet. "Did you have to do that in front of him?" He muttered. "He gets a kick out of seeing me get my arse whalloped."

"Well, you can't beat him all the time," Lord Voldemort reasoned, leading Harry out of the room and down the hall. "His pride would never recover."

Harry was silent for a moment, before hesitantly asking, "How did it go?"

Lord Voldemort peered at the boy from the corner of his eye. "The investigation was...satisfactory."

The younger boy paused, gathering his gall, and asked, "And that was the last important matter of business...for a while, anyway?"

The man arched a brow, giving Harry a once-over. "I'm a very busy man, Harry. There are always important matters to attend to-"

"I was just wondering-" Harry felt frightened that he had interrupted him for a moment, but then he pressed on. "I was just wondering if you had time to teach me some of that special magic."

Voldemort glanced at the boy again, a wry smile curling his lips. "Very well."


	4. The Devoted

**A/N: Hey guys! Here's the next chapter! This one is a bit longer, because we're slowly transitioning out of expository information, but it also takes a rather lengthy detour into Bellatrix's past. I just wanted to explain, in case anyone gets annoyed, that this is very much necessary: she's going to be a very large character in this story, and I wanted to make sure that her character was properly developed.**

**Enjoy!**

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Bellatrix Lestrange was, by nature, a vicious person. It was difficult for her, by any means, to convey emotions such as compassion, or empathy, or concern; it simply wasn't in her nature. However, she had to admit that Harry Potter brought out such emotions in her that had laid dormant for years upon years. The boy was truly a diamond in the rough. She watched silently as he and the Dark Lord exchanged spells, the latter stopping every few minutes to correct his form or give him advice involving his execution. He watched his Master with such enraptured reverence that he reminded Bellatrix of herself at a young age:

_The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was particularly silent on Saturday afternoons. Cygnus Black usually spent hours upon hours in his study, pouring over various articles of paperwork. She could still picture him, his glasses perched on his nose, dark hair lightly ruffled from running his hands through it so many times._

_Druella Black, despite the innumerable number of house elves they owned, liked to do her own cooking, thoroughly convinced as she was that one day one of the house elves would attempt to do them in by poisoning the broth._

_Andromeda cheekily remarked that if they wanted to do them in they could simply murder them as they slept._

_Their mother seemed particularly harried today though as she prepared dinner, and Narcissa, ever the compassionate, sweetly asked, "Mother, what's troubling you? Is it anything we can help you with?"_

_Narcissa had their mother's blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, and they sparkled down at her fondly, patting the girl on the head. For eleven, Narcissa was extremely tiny. "Not to worry, darling. We're just going to have a very important guest over. You remember Rabastan Lestrange, don't you dear?" Their mother was now addressing Bellatrix, who vaguely nodded._

_Rabastan was about four years Bellatrix's senior, and none the wiser; he was unintelligent, he was tactless, and he was quite and immature, but her parents seemed to be hell-bent on uniting the two of them as soon as she came of age. _

_Her mother was still speaking. "-Rabastan is going to bring a friend to introduce us to, a man named who calls himself Voldemort; Rabastan says he's a very capable wizard, and has some very formidable plans concerning his future. He's something of a mentor to Rabastan and his brother, I think."_

_Bellatrix was no longer listening, though. She wandered out of the kitchen, over to the French doors, and threw them open, a light grin playing on her lips as she breathed in the fresh air. Without a moment's hesitation, she threw herself into the yard, bounding off the steps and into the steady stream of light rainfall. She felt the water that clung to the grass seep into her shoes, but she didn't care. The rhythm that the rain created against the ground was almost therapeutic. _

_She felt like she had been outside for mere moments when her mother's voice sounded like a siren from inside, "Bellatrix, get in here this instant!" _

_She laughed, setting off full-speed across the yard, nearly tripping over her dress on her way up the porch stairs, and coming to an abrupt halt when she realized that her family did not stand alone in the parlor. Oh, her mother was going to have a kiniption..._

_"Bellatrix, I told you we were having guests soon." The aforementioned woman said in a horrified whisper. Her daughter was confused for a moment, as to why she was so upset, but it became clear when she glanced down at her pretty, new white dress and saw that it was nearly soaked through, the fabric sticking to her skin and the hem nearly six inches deep in mud. _

_"Well, now that we're all here," Cygnus chuckled, "I would like you to meet my two youngest daughters, Narcissa," the tiny blonde bobbed in a very feminine curtsey, her pale face flushing with color as she gazed at the man, "and Andromeda." Even the thirteen-year-old, typically roguish and rarely nervous, Andromeda turned a rather amusing shade of coral, her dark eyes flashing as she surveyed the stranger, almost stumbling as she came out of her curtsey._

_"And my eldest, Bellatrix." Bella's eyes, which had been resting boredly on her father, flickered over to the stranger, and she immediately found the source of their nerves. _

_He was tall man, taller than their father, with high cheekbones, enchantingly dark eyes, and a pleasantly-shaped mouth. His hair, the deepest shade of ebony, was parted smoothly to one side, and his long pianist fingers were folded deftly in front of him. _

_Bellatrix, never one to lose her composure, gave the stranger a wry smirk and stuck out a hand for him to shake. "It's Bella," she corrected her father. With an amused grin, he took her hand and shook it, and Bella felt a burst a glee. She knew her mother would be mortified "_Proper Pureblood ladies curtsey, and never shake!" _But his amusement made it all the more worth it._

_She was seated next to him at dinner, and throughout the entire meal, she couldn't keep her eyes off him. Everything about him was elegant, refined, poised; from the way he spoke, to his laugh, even the way he ate. He was everything that the Pureblood men of her circle aspired to be, but could not obtain._

_"Effertz is, of course, giving his best efforts, however, I would not be surprised if he was removed from office within the next few months." Her father paused, raising his glass of champagne to his lips. At the beginning of the meal, when the house elf had come around to ask what each of them wanted as a beverage, Bellatrix had cheekily requested red wine. The men had laughed, but her mother had shot her a disapproving glare. _

_"Perhaps if Effertz were more focused on directing funds towards the Wizegamont's desires and less concerned about the funds going into his own bank account, he wouldn't face the issue of impending impeachment."_

_Voldemort shifted so that his shoulder's were squared towards her, and his dark eyes glittered as he glanced down at her. "What would you do, if you were Effertz, Miss Black?" She could see her mother glaring frostily at her from her peripherals, but she ignored her, reveling in the intimacy of that gaze._

_"If I were Effertz..." she pondered, pretending to think as she lifted a glass of red wine to her lips, taking a contemplative sip. Neither of her parents noticed that she had drank from Voldemort's glass, but he certainly had, and he arched an eyebrow at her boldness. "I would abide by the Wizegamont, for the time being; they like a Minister who is in their pocket; when a source of distraction comes along, I would direct the funds towards my own desires, thus not having to worry about the Wizegamont's interference."_

_Her peered at her for a second longer before turning back to face her father and engage him in conversation, but not before lifting his glass, tilting it towards her subtly, and taking a sip._

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_Bellatrix sat quietly, her feet dangling off the side of the porch, where she sat perched on top of the railing. The rain had tapered out and the clouds had disappeared, leaving a vast array of stars in their wake. _

_"I'm impressed at your knowledge of politics."_

_Bellatrix felt a smirk curl around the corner of her mouth. "I know a great number of things," She replied arrogantly, tilting her head back to catch his gaze as he wandered across the porch, his hands folded behind his back.._

_"Yes, and yet, you seem...stifled." He stopped next to her, not looking at her, but gazing out over the yard as well. The night was cool, and a boyish flush had arisen in his cheeks, making him even more desirable._

_Bellatrix picked at a thread on her skirt, carefully mulling over her words. "Father would have me be a doormat, would have me speak only when spoken to. Mother would have me curtseying and practicing perfect Pureblood etiquette. They would rather I not be educated in the realms of politics and Arithmacy."_

_He finally looked at her, his heavy gaze resting on her face. "But you wish to pursue that knowledge." It was not a question, but she answered anyway. _

_"I wish to pursue all knowledge!" She slipped off of the railing and landed rather gracefully in the grass. She ripped one of the roses off of her mother's rosebush, rolling the flower between her fingers. She whipped towards him, her face alit with a passion that seemed to have been stifled for quite a number of years._

_"I wish to know the indefinite amount of things there are to know in the world...I wish to learn to brew the most challenging of Potions, and transfigure the largest of beasts and-and-" She hesitated, the petals of the rose fluttering down from her hand to the ground. They had stained her fingers an alarming shade of red. "I wish to harness power."_

_Voldemort slowly moved towards her, his expression stoic. "I could teach you those things, if you wished."_

_She gaze shot upwards towards him. "You-you mean it? You really could?"_

_He paused, studying her eager face. "It would come at a price." His gaze sharpened on her face, and he studied her callously. "How old are you, young Bellatrix?"_

_She hesitated, before answering in a timid voice, "Eight-eighteen." _

_He arched a brow, moving closer to her. "Are you lying to me, Bellatrix?"_

_She froze, under his unwavering gaze, before sighing. "I-I'm only fifteen, but I promise I'll be mature, and dilligent in whatever you wish to teach me. I shall apply myself most thoroughly and-" she stepped towards him, gazing up at him through her dark lashes. " I promise that I will impress you, Master Voldemort."_

_"I have no doubt that you will, young Bellatrix, however, I warn you now, if you truly wish for me to teach you...it is no small price that you must be willing to pay."_

_She gazed up at him, her eyes adoring and admiring, and they did not stray from his face as she said in a firm voice, "Master, there is no price that I am not willing to pay."_

The Dark Lord and his apprentice had finished their practicing, and the boy made his way towards Bellatrix, who handed him a roll of parchment. "Professor Snape needs these ingredients from the apothecary in Diagon Alley, but he is indisposed to get them himself."

Harry's entire aura changed as soon as the Potions master was mentioned. "Well I'm not his bloody errand-boy." It was a well-known fact that the two did not like each other. Snape's own reasons for discontent were unbeknownst to Harry, but for his part, the Potions master gave him the willies. His impossibly dark eyes were always cold and emotionless, and whenever he came round, he always gave Harry the impression of being able to read minds.

His Master arched a single brown in Harry's direction. "Severus is brewing a Potion for me, Harry. Surely you do not wish to displease me?"

Harry's head immediately dropped into a bow, his animosity instantly forgotten. "Of course not, Master." He paused, wondering if he dare voice the question at the forefront of his mind. "Am-am I to go alone?"

Bellatrix and his Master shared a long look that he did not miss, before the latter turned to give him a sharp nod. "We will allow you to make this journey without adult accompaniment, assuming that you follow your rules,"

Harry nodded vigorously.

"Do not speak to strangers."

Harry nodded again.

"...And bring Draco."

Harry visibly deflated.

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**A/N: ****Thanks for reading, and make sure to review!**


	5. Weasleys and War Plans

**A/N: Hey guys! So, this is the longest chapter yet, the reason for that being that I actually decided to combine two chapters into one. Chapter five was disgustingly short, so I combined it with chapter six. I hope you enjoy! This chapter was _so _much fun to write: we a little more in-depth into Harry's personality, as well as the introduction of some familiar characters;)**

**Enjoy!**

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Harry blinked blearily as he stepped into the blinding afternoon light of Diagon Alley. The cobblestone streets were crowded, bustling with witches and wizards of every age, color, and size. He caught snatches of their conversations as they passed:

"Immense load, this lot!"

"I said I needed a _standard_ pewter cauldron, mum-"

"-and it wouldn't be so expensive if Binns didn't assign so many damn readings-"

Harry sighed, realizing that the majority of the witches and wizards surround him were either Hogwarts students, or the families of Hogwarts students, home for Christmas break, and visiting Diagon Alley to replace lost or ruined items for school.

It had been when he was eleven years old, the day that Draco received his Hogwarts letter, that Aunt Bella and Uncle Rod had had to explain to him that he wouldn't get to attend Hogwarts. They told him that there were some very dangerous enemies at Hogwarts, and that they wouldn't want Harry to cross paths with them. This still didn't explain why Draco got to go; actually, it didn't explain a great number of things. Their explanation had never really been good enough for Harry.

"C'mon, apothecary's this way," Draco said, steering Harry in the direction of the shop as though he didn't know where it was. The younger boy shook his arm off irritably. It wasn't that he and Draco didn't get on, it was just that Draco had a very domineering personality, one that didn't rub Harry the right way. Draco was always brown-nosing his parents and his aunts and uncles to get whatever he could out of them. Draco called it "Slytherin".

Harry called it pathetic.

The two of them finally pushed their way through the crowd to the apothecary, and Draco went inside. Harry was about to follow him in, when he spotted something down the alleyway.

The Quidditch shop.

Harry had never been inside before; every other time he had been to Diagon Alley, he had been accompanied by either Rodolphus or Bellatrix, who always stated that they were their on "business". He peered in the window and saw that Draco had not waited for him to follow, and was gathering Potion ingredients.

Without really thinking, he slipped his way through the bustling people, making his way towards the shop. He arrived in front of it, and found a gaggle of teenagers gathered around the window, staring rather longingly at something inside. He peered over their shoulders, and his eyes widened.

A broom was displayed in the window; it's handle was smooth and finely polished, and each bristle looked as though it had been brushed. He let out a low whistle, making his way towards the door of the shop, his eyes still on the beautiful broom, when he bumped into a smaller figure.

"Oi, watch it!"

The books she was carrying spilled out of her arms and onto the ground. She hastily stooped to pick them up, glancing up at him with a scowl when he stood there simply staring at her. "What are you, daft? Be a gentleman and help!"

Harry considered ignoring her and simply walking away-he didn't like anyone beside his Master telling him what to do-but something about her tone amused him, and he stooped beside her, scooping up her books easily. One of them read _Hogwarts, a History, 4th Edition, _and the other _Transfiguration: Grade 6. _So she was a Hogwarts student, then.

"It wasn't my fault," he said finally, adopting the smooth tone that he had often heard Master use on unwilling parties. "Your hair, it blinded me, you see."

They rose at the same time, and Harry was surprised to see that, instead of looking offended, the girl grinned. "Touche." Before he could blink, she stuck out a hand, and Harry vaguely recalled his second rule: _Don't talk to strangers. _"I'm Ginny. Ginny Weasley."

Harry had heard the name Weasley before; he had heard Aunt Bellatrix talk about their joke of a father in the Office of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts; he had heard Uncle Lucius talk about how they lived in a hovel with more children than they could feed; Draco had come home summer after summer complaining about Longbottom and his dolt of a sidekick, Weasley. Most of all, he had heard that the Weasley's were the biggest group of Blood Traitors in the wizarding world.

She must have noticed his expression, because she faltered, but before she could say anything, a smirk slid onto his lips and he reached forward boldly, grasping a strand of her long hair between his fingers. "Weasley. Yes, I might have guessed."

She laughed uncomfortably, pulling back the hand which she had intended for him to shake and twisting it through her fiery locks. "Yes, well, you can't help your genetics, can you?"

"No, you can't." Harry said very seriously.

Ginny shifted, looking rather discomfited, and Harry tilted his head, studying her, vaguely wondering why, but not particularly caring that she was. "I really am sorry, actually," She said after a beat. "I should have been paying attention, and I apologize for snapping at you. My brother Ron was being a git, so he put me in a bad mood."

Harry smirked at her. "I accept your apology."

She stared at him, as if waiting for something, and he arched an eyebrow. "This would be the part where _you _apologize," she pointed out, sounding annoyed again, and Harry had to bite back a laugh. "You know, for knocking all of my books out of my hands, and getting in my way?"

He frowned, seeming to contemplate it for a moment, before his face once again reverted back to its smirking state, and he said very simply, "No." Without a word, he turned on his heel, heading back towards the apothecary, completely forgetting about the Quidditch shop. He felt a glint of satisfaction when he glanced back and found that the girl-Ginny-was indeed following him, practically running to catch up with him, her face twisted into a scowl.

"Hey, wait just a moment!" He half turned towards her, and she fell into step with him. "What were you, raised by cavemen or something?" He didn't answer. "What year are you, anyway? Seventh? I know you aren't in my year, I would recognize you."

He blinked at her, feeling the irritation settling in his chest once more. "No, I-er-don't go to Hogwarts."

"Oh," she paused, seemingly confused. "Durmstrang, then?"

"I'm homeschooled." He said shortly, hoping she would drop it.

She, apparently, didn't get the hint. "I've never heard of that. Your parents must be very...qualified." Harry didn't feel like explaining the whole situation to her, so he simply nodded.

The two of them settled into a silence, and Harry opened his mouth, maybe to make another deprecating comment about her hair, but never got the chance to, for at that moment, Draco appeared around the corner, looking furious.

"Harry! There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you!" He drew level with them, and suddenly seemed to notice the redhead at his side. "Weaslette," Draco's voice suddenly took on a very condescending tone as he sneered down at the girl. "Surely you've got better things to do then infect us with your presence. You've probably got Mudblood all over you, spending so much time with Granger."

The Weasley girl's expression ignited in moments, and before Harry could blink, her wand was in her hand. She glanced between the two of them, taking in Harry's impassivity at Draco's words.

"You two are _friends_?" She scathed, wrinkling her nose as though she smelled something foul.

"He's my cousin," Harry offered by way of explanation. "You two known each other?"

"Unfortunately," Draco drawled. "C'mon, Harry, we're due home. Let's leave the little Blood Traitor to play with her Mudblood." As he was speaking, a tall girl with sharp brown eyes and a great deal of bushy hair atop her head appeared at Ginny's side. The look she shot Draco was scalding. Before the two of them could do anything, Draco pulled Harry away from them and towards the floo that would take them back to Malfoy Manor.

The two boys appeared in the parlor in the manor only to find it empty. As soon as Harry had found level footing, Draco whirled on him. "What are you doing?"

Harry blinked once, twice, before asking confusedly, "What are you talking about?"

Draco scoffed. "Do you have any idea what my aunt would do if she had appeared in Diagon Alley at that moment and seen you talking to that Blood Traitor?"

"The Weasley's are Purebloods-"

"And _Blood Traitors_, Draco nearly shouted, and jumped when he heard a door upstairs slam shut, before he lowered his voice. "And in our book, Blood Traitors are just as bad as Mudbloods."

Harry frowned, but said nothing, silently watching Draco's retreating back as he stormed from the room to deliver Snape's potions ingredients. He understood where Draco was coming from; Mudbloods had been infiltrating the wizarding world at a steadily increasing rate, and, as Aunt Bellatrix had told him, their magic was unstable and volatile. Anyone who supported that, Pureblood or not, was bad news.

Harry thought back to Ginny's Mudblood in Diagon Alley. The bushy-haired witch, Harry realized, must have been Hermione Granger, who Draco spoke of often with vehement hatred. Harry knew that Draco was incredibly jealous of Granger's exceptional magical ability; apparently she was top of their year, but Draco insisted that it was favoritism from professors.

Harry wondered if Ginny-or Weaslette, as Draco had called her-knew that Mudbloods' magic was unstable. He wondered what she would do if he asked her about it; she would probably get that strangely adorable scowl on her face, her cheeks flushing to match her incredibly soft hair...

He shook his head, attempting to clear it. These sort of thoughts would do him no good; Draco was right: Blood Traitor's were just as bad as Mudbloods.

Besides, it's not as though he'd ever see her again.

* * *

Harry's mind was buzzing the following day, and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his mouth shut about yesterday's incident. He wanted to ask Aunt Bella about the Mudbloods, about the Blood Traitors, and all of the things he had always been curious about but had never been exposed to.

Draco seemed to sense his excitement, for every few moments, he sent him a warning glance, as if to shoot down the idea he knew that was bursting inside of Harry's head. Harry was glad that he was going back to school the next day, because his condescension was grating on Harry's last nerve.

As he was wandering down the hall late that afternoon, he came across a door left ajar, and heard voice emitting from within. The door, Harry knew, lead to the meeting hall, which he also knew to be currently occupied; his Master was conducting an interrogation of one of their enemies.

Unable to stave off his curiosity, Harry peeked inside of the room. His Master stood in the center of the room, Aunt Bella and several of his other followers gathered around he and the figure at his feet in a loose formation. Harry could barely make out the figure at his feet through the numerous legs blocking his view, but he could tell that she was clearly a woman, with dirty blonde hair.

"Surely, Ms. Burbage, you cannot truly be convinced of the equality between Muggles and Wizards?" Several of his surrounding followers let out a chuckles and guffaws of laughter. Aunt Bella was silent, her eyes trained on the Dark Lord.

The woman did not answer, but let out a moan of agony as Lord Voldemort hit her with the torture curse. Harry had only felt the agony of that curse once before in his life; at the age of twelve, he was wandering around the manor, the day after Draco had left for his second year of Hogwarts, bored with nothing else to do, and stumbled into a room that he later learned he ought not be in. Within a wooden chest, buried beneath countless items that he did not understand, he had found a small, black book with the name _Tom Marvolo Riddle _enscripted on the back in golden lettering. His Master had found him flipping through the empty book, and he had been infuriated, inflicting the curse upon him without any warning. He later explained to Harry that he was not to go meddling through things that did not belong to him. Harry did really understand what the harm was in a little black book-there wasn't even anything written in it-but he did not dare disobey again.

"Harry." His eyes shot up as he realized that his Master was looking at him; he had apparently not been quiet enough. "Come."

He slowly made his way into the meeting hall, wondering anxiously if he was going to be punished for his interupption. His fears were slightly abated, however, when, as he reached him, his Master put a hand on his shoulder, turning him to face the figure curled upon herself on the floor.

"Harry, this is Charity Burbage. She is a Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ms. Burbage, young Harry, teaches Muggle Studies. She professes that Muggles are not so different from you and I...she would even, perhaps, have us mate with them."

Harry stared impassively at the woman on the ground. Seeing her up close now, he realized that she might have once been very pretty; she had high cheekbones and bottle green eyes. But her face was covered in dirt and her tattered robes were soaked with blood. He looked back up at his Master inquisitively.

Voldemort addressed all of his followers now. "It is people like this who must be elimiated from the world; people like Charity Burbage would see the entire Pureblood population dwindle into extinction." He turned back to Harry, leaning down to his height and saying in a soft, nearly serpentine whisper, "Kill her."

Harry raised his wand, trying, in vain, to push down the nervous flitter in his stomach. It was one thing, using the spell on spiders and insects, but it was another thing entirely to look at another human being, and watch the light leave their eyes. Charity Burbage lifted her head off the ground, looking first at the wand in his hand, and then peering callously at his face. She studied him with such a scrutiny that it was almost uncomfortable.

He raised his wand again, steeling himself, when she opened her mouth, her voice hoarse, and whispered,"_Harry_. _Harry Po-_"

"_Avada Kedavra._"

Harry squinted as the blinding green light enveloped her body, and she fell lifeless against the tile floor. He turned and saw his Master, his wand raised towards the woman, and swallowed thickly. He did not looked pleased.

"You have much to learn." He said curtly, before demanding that the rest of the inner circle, save for the Lestranges and the Malfoys, leave. He dismissed Harry to his room, and Harry couldn't stand the coldness in his gaze, almost as though he were...disappointed. As he moved towards the door, he passed Snape, who was just arriving, and the two of them shared a glare of mutual dislike.

Before Harry could get too far away, however, he heard his name being whispered, and his curiosity peaked once again. Pressing himself against the wall by the door, he strained to hear what they were saying about him.

"-don't understand how she could have recognized him! We completely changed his appearance." Harry recognized Aunt Bella's voice.

"We only changed his hair and eyes," came Rodolphus's contemplative reply. "Perhaps she recognized something in his face-"

"_Quiet_!" That was most definitely his Master who spoke, and the three of them fell silent for a few moments, before the air around the rooms suddenly became charged with a strange buzz. Harry cursed; they had put a silencing charm on the room. He irritably made his way up to his own room, collapsing down on his bed and staring at the mirror opposite him.

Had they been talking about him back there? If so, why would his Aunt and Uncle have wanted to make him look different? He had seen pictures of Rodolphus's dead brother, his own father, and he was nearly identical to Rodolphus himself.

Or perhaps he had been disgustingly disfigured from the attack that had killed his parents. Perhaps they merely wanted to save him from the embarassment? Some how Harry didn't think that was it. He stood up, crossing the room so he stood not a foot away from the glass. He reached out and touched his reflection. He only ever remembered looking like this: the same thick, dark curles and molten brown eyes. He couldn't imagine looking any other way.

Something else was eating away at Harry as well. As he had faced the woman, Charity Burbage, and had looked up at him, something flashed in her eyes-recognition? And she had started to speak: "Harry Po-" Harry what? It was going to drive him mad.

Sighing in frustration, he moved back to his bed, collapsing onto the mattress and staring up at the ceiling.

Sometimes, Harry felt like his entire life was a lie.

* * *

The next evening, after the lot of them went to see Draco off, Harry was called into the meeting hall. Most of his Master's inner circle was assembled there, seated around a long, thin table. "Harry," came his Master's quiet voice. "Join us." He gestued to the seat on his direct left, and Harry hastily made his way towards it. As soon as he was seated, Voldemort addressed the group.

"The time has come. Despite her impressive resilience, Ms. Burbage did relay one piece of critical information to us before her...unfortunate passing." He paused. "The Order of the Phoenix has taken refuge at Hogwarts."

There were countless cheers among the members of the table, several of the Death Eaters slamming their fists against the wood in glee. After allowing them a few moments to celebrate, Lord Voldemort raised a single hand, and a hush fell over them, as quick as lightning.

"Our chance to strike has come upon us. We have successfully taken the Ministry. Dumbledore, the old fool, is weak, and their defenses are less than adequate. By tomorrow's eve, the last of the resistance will have fallen."

Cheers once again rung loud throughout the hall; Harry was silent as he peered at his Master. He sat pensively, stroking Nagini's head as his gaze wandered, focusing on nothing in particular. As if sensing his attention, his eyes shot to Harry, and the younger boy lowered his head. Voldemort smirked, motioning for them to quiet themselves once more.

"We will bring down the wards. Rodolphus will lead a band of troops to secure our position within the castle, and Scabior and Fenrir will lead the wolves, giants, and other magical creatures to attack from the East. We will spare as much magical blood as possible, but remember, one who gets in our way is one who must be exterminated." Each one of his followers were waiting with bated breath, and Harry realized that he hadn't issued the punch line.

Voldemort continued to gently stroke Nagini, his lips curling into a malicious smile. "Make no mistake," he said finally, his voice little more than a whisper, "I will be the one to put an end to the old man. Touch him, and you die. He is mine to finish."

Harry resisted shivering at the intent in his voice. He had never seen Dumbledore, besides old pictures in the Daily Prophet, but he could recognize the aura of power that surrounded the man. In many a photograph, his bright blue eyes seemed to twinle kindly behind his half-moon spectacles, but Harry didn't trust him. Not for one minute.

After the meeting was dismissed, Voldemort asked Harry to stay. He stood in the center of the room, head bowed, as he waited for his Master to speak. The older man walked towards him slowly, circling him, like a predator would his prey. "I have been very impressed, young Harry." He said softly. "Your training has been progressing steadily, and your magical capability is beyond extraordinary for your age." He paused, his face suddenly contorting from a benign expression to one of irritation. "However, your inability to execute the killing curse is most unsatisfactory."

Harry said nothing, waiting for his Master to get to the point.

"This is the only thing stopping me from allowing you to accompany Rodolphus." Harry had to clench his teeth to stop his jaw from dropping. "I have no doubt that you are our most valuable weapon, should you performance meet the standards of your capabilities."

"I-I will not disappoint you, Master," Harry said quickly, his voice trembling.

Lord Voldemort tsked, circling him again. "Petty words, Harry, petty words that mean _nothing _to me."

Harry hesitated, a frown marring his face. "Wh-what is it you wish me to do, Master?"

Voldemort smirked, and inclined his head. The double doors leading out to the parlor opened abruptly, and two of his followers appeared, dragging a struggling body behind them. They set the figure at Harry's feet, and bound them so that they could not move. The figure looked up at Harry.

He didn't recognize the man; he had dark, wavy hair and bright blue eyes. His face, which might have been handsome otherwise, was contorted into a scowl.

"It doesn't matter how many of us you kill," he spat, enraged. "We will never stop fighting you, or your sociopathic minions."

Voldemort grinned eerily. "I'm glad to hear it. It makes it all the more entertaining for us." Without waiting for a response, he turned to Harry, and said, "Kill him."

Harry took a deep breath. He knew there was no getting out of it this time. This was what he had to do to prove himself to his Master. The man glared up at Harry, is blue eyes alarmingly intense. He knew that if he spent too much longer, he would never do it. But as he gazed into the man's face, he realized there was something frighteningly familiar about him...

The man's gaze suddenly softened, and he blinked several times before sitting up straighter. "Harry?" He whispered.

Harry braced himself, "_Avada Kedavra_."

The bright green light exploded from his wand; Harry had thought he had been prepared for it, but he had to shield his eyes as the magic burst forth and slammed into it's victim. The man slumped, lifeless onto the cold stone floor. Harry let out a breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. He looked up into his Master's face, and saw that it was alight with a sick, perverse satisfaction.

"Good," he said softly. "Your training is complete." His words did nothing to ease the tension in Harry's stomach. "I've sent Wormtail home for the eve, so be a good boy and dispose of the body, will you?" Harry nodded obediently, and without another word, Lord Voldemort swept out of the room.

Harry, still trembling, moved towards the stranger's lifeless form. Curiously, he rolled him over, face up, and studied his features. He wasn't sure why he looked so familiar, but there was something...

"_Wingardium Leviosa_." The wizard's body rose, floating eerily beside Harry as he directed it out of the meeting hall and towards the cellar. They had almost reached the door when something slid out of the wizard's robes and onto the floor. Harry knelt and picked it up, stroking the fabric between his fingers. It appeared to be a cloak of some sort, silky and almost liquid against his skin. Harry could sense the magic radiating from the object, and without really thinking about it, he slipped it on.

Nothing happened.

Harry frowned, reaching towards his wand, which sat on the stone floor, think maybe there was some sort of incantation

He froze. His body was gone.

Harry's pulse raced as he realized exactly what he was wearing. An invisibility cloak, and by the looks of it, a good one. He had read all about them, but had never actually seen one. He glanced around himself, making sure no one had seen him, before hastily shoving the cloak in his robes.

* * *

Harry felt as though all the blood in his body was pounding in his ears; his heart beat resembled horses' hooves against his rib cage as Lord Voldemort's army approached the furthermost border of Hogwarts' grounds. Far in the distance, he could see people, like tiny ants, scrambling around in preparation, for they had been warned, not twenty minutes before, by Lord Voldemort's projection, giving them the option to surrender, or stand and fight. They had apparently, and most unwisely, in Harry's opinion, chosen the latter.

He watched as his Master surveyed the panicked grounds with an air of amusement; the moonlight shined on one side of his face, making him look artfully sinister. Harry, too, moved his eyes back towards the castle. Draco, he realized, was down there some where. He wondered if he and his friends were waiting somewhere in the castle for Voldemort's signal to attack, or if they were hidden away, cowering and afraid. Harry's head whipped back towards his Master as he saw him raise his wand, aiming it calculatingly at the wards, which hovered hauntingly in the air surround the castle, like some sort of force field. Without batting an eye, he shot a powerful spell towards the force field, and it trembled under the attack. As though a verbal command had been given, his followers, gathered in an alarming mass behind him, raised their wands as well, shooting jets of magic towards the barriers which separated them from victory.

It had begun.

* * *

**A/N: There we are! Hope you enjoyed it, and please review to let me know if you did or didn't! Brownie points to anyone who can figure out who the man who Harry killed is;)**

**Does Voldemort remind anyone else of the Emperor in Star Wars? No? Just me? Nerd alert;)**


	6. The Attack

Harry followed Uncle Rodolphus through the tall entrance hall doors. He found it difficult to focus on fighting when he was so distracted by the splendor of the castle; the books really weren't exaggerating. The castle walls stood hundreds of feet high, ancient and regal in formation. Harry just got a glimpse into the Great Hall, spotting the famous candles which hung suspended in midair near the ceiling, when several figures emerged from the huge double doors, firing a number of hexes in their direction. Almost as though it were second nature, Harry shot spell after spell at them in such a rapid succession that he knew they were startled. A few of Rodolphus's troops stayed behind to deal with the rebels, while the man in question led the rest of them towards the most incredible staircase Harry had ever seen. As his eyes wandered higher and higher, he realized that the staircases were actually _moving. _

He turned to face them. "Right, this is where we split off." He started issuing orders in a no-nonsense tone that Harry had rarely heard him use. "You six, into the Great Hall, you nine head back out towards the grounds, you four take the first floor, you four take the second..." And so on, until the only people left were he and Harry. "C'mon," Rodolphus said, his tone softening as he led him up the staircase.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked inquisitively, his eyes moving over the hundreds of portraits as though he could not get enough of them.

"Seventh floor." Rodolphus replied shortly.

It seemed like ages before they reached what appeared to be the highest level of the Hogwarts castle. Uncle Rodolphus led Harry down a winding, maze-like hallway, and Harry could hardly keep track of which way they had come from. Just as he was about to ask what exactly they were looking for, Rodolphus stopped, directly in front of a completely blank stretch of wall, and immediately began pacing back and forth in front of it.

Harry looked uncertainly between he and the wall, before glancing around the two of them. There was nothing to give any indication of why exactly they were there, other then a tapestry opposite of the wall, depicting a rather strange-looking wizard attempting to teach a group of trolls ballet.

When he looked back however, the two of them were no longer standing in front of a blank stretch of wall, but in front of two rather ornately carved door. Harry's jaw dropped. "How did-how did that get there?"

Rodolphus didn't bother to respond, but instead purposefully strode through the double doors. Harry followed behind him, his eyes wide as he surveyed the room; each an every inch of floorspace was cluttered with piles upon piles of every item imaginable, leaving but a narrow walk way. Everything ranging from school books to animal cages, to broomsticks, and even a few items which Harry knew for a fact could only be accessed deep in the recesses of Knockturn Alley.

"Uncle Rod, what are we doing here?" Harry asked, nearly leaping out of his skin when a flock of pixies came bursting out of a cabinet he had accidentally bumped into. Rodolphus's seemed to be looking for something. "The Dark Lord asked that we come and check on something for him. He didn't want to say it in front of the others. He's afraid if we don't come up here, Dumbledore will find it."

"Tom always was very intelligent."

Harry's wand flew into his hand, and he saw Rodolphus stiffen. Both of them turned to find none other than Albus Dumbledore standing there, not fifteen feet away from them, one hand on his wand, which was at his side, and the other holding a very strange-looking tiara. Harry glanced at Rodolphus, and saw his eyes flickering nervously between Dumbledore, and the tiara in his hand. That must've been the item they were supposed to keep away from him.

"You're supposed to be up in your office, old man," Rodolphus said finally, sneering, and indeed he was. They knew, because the Master had been headed in that direction to take care of him.

Dumbledore smiled, not unkindly, and Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "One cannot always anticipate the actions of those they do not understand. Surely, Rodolphus, you do not intend to infiltrate the castle tonight?"

"We've already succeeded," Rodolphus bragged, and Harry internally cursed; he was getting distracted, just as the old man intended. He was stalling them. Harry nonchalantly wandered over to one of the huge cabinets, pretending to be examining it, before he hastily slipped behind it, feeling around the pockets of his robes and withdrawing the invisibility cloak. Giving Dumbledore and Uncle Rodolphus one more glance, he slipped beneath it.

He moved slowly around the innumerable mounds of objects, hidden from sight by both the barriers between them, and the invisibility cloak, but staying close enough that he could still hear them speaking. He finally emerged from behind the huge stacks and realized that Dumbledore had his back to him. Feeling adrenaline pulsing through his veins, he raised his wand, aiming it at the old man's back. This was his moment, his opportunity to prove to his master that he _could do it. _

Suddenly stricken with an idea, he aimed his wand instead at the tiara in his hand, slipped his wand out of the cloak, and whispered, "_Expelliarmus_!" Before he could stop it, the tiara shot out of Dumbledore's hand, and Rodolphus deftly caught it. Dumbledore whirled around, wand raised, but at that moment the door behind them burst open, and in stormed Lord Voldemort himself. Harry hastily shoved the invisibility cloak back into his robes and moved to stand beside Rodolphus. He and his uncle looked fearfully between Dumbledore and their Master.

"Rodolphus, do with that as I previously informed you," Voldemort instructed, his eyes never leaving Dumbledore. Harry felt anxiety bubble up in his stomach; he knew that his Master was an extraordinary wizard, but Dumbledore was supposedly the most powerful wizard alive. Rodolphus had one hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the exit, but Harry was resisting, his eyes glued on his Master.

"Go, Harry." His Master commanded, glancing at him. Dumbledore, too, looked at him, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared at the boy. With one more glance at his Master, Harry allowed Rodolphus to lead him out, the door closing with a snap behind them.

"What's going to happen to him?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling much younger than he was.

Rodolphus's brow was wrinkled. "Nothing, of course. He's going to get rid of that old fool." His tone did nothing to calm Harry's nerves. The two of them rushed down the staircase, making their way to the ground floor, where the thick of the battle was taking place. Harry acknowledged that practicing dueling with Draco at the Manor was nothing like the real deal.

The man Harry was dueling was much older than him, but younger than Uncle Rod and Aunt Bella. He had mousy brown hair, and his skin was peaky. There were heavy bags under his eyes, as though he hadn't a good night of sleep in several years.

"You look like you need a nap," Harry decided to remark aloud, shooting the man a disarming grin. He frowned, casting his spells in a more rapid succession. "Tell you what: you and your buddies can all go get a quick snooze, and we'll watch the castle for you."

The man let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, nice try. And I suppose you'll just-" he slid out of the way of one of Harry's nastier hexes "-take good care of all the Muggleborns and Half-Bloods?"

Harry's temple pulsed in irritation. What was it with these moronic Purebloods? Why were they so fond of the stupid Mudbloods? Before Harry could make a snide remark about this , the man shot a powerful spell towards him, and he had to dive to avoid it. His moment of distraction was all the man needed, and he took off after a group that seemed to be headed to a different part of the castle. Suspicious, Harry slipped past the numerous pairs that were dueling and followed them, slipping the invisibility cloak on as he went.

The man Harry had been dueling had fallen into a group of teenagers who looked very near Harry's age. Two short, stocky red -haired boys who appeared to be twins ran just ahead of him, and just behind him, a tall, round-faced boy with dark hair and rather large from teeth. Next to him was a blonde girl with clear blue eyes and a dreamy expression. Leading the group, her long red hair dancing behind her as she ran, was none other than Ginny Weasley. It was she who was issuing out orders.

"Voldemort's got almost the entire first three floors under his control, so if we're going to fight them off, we're going to have to work from the top down."

"Dumbledore's on the seventh floor," the round-faced boy supplied helpfully. "And I saw a group of Death Eaters heading up the third-floor corridor, so we could cut them off there."

"Brilliant, Neville." Ginny beamed. "Neville, Fred, George, you lot head up to the third floor-"

"I have an idea," the blonde girl said loftily. "It might be mad, but it's worth a shot."

"Alright, Remus and I will go with Luna, and we'll erm...see you later, I suppose." She hesitated, before flinging her arms around the two redhead boys for a fleeting hug, and then taking off behind Remus and Luna. Harry realized these must be two of her brothers.

"C'mon, then," the round-faced boy-Neville-said to the twins. Harry followed the three of them up to the third floor corridor, an idea hatching in his mind as they went. The three boys waited patiently, and it wasn't long before a group of rowdy Death Eaters-honestly, didn't they know the meaning of stealth?-came storming down the corridor, chasing a group of little boys who didn't look a day over fourteen. Neville shoved the boys towards the end of the corridor, raising his wand as the Death Eaters came flying around the corner. Harry considered stopping the boys as they sprinted past him, but decided against it. This would be much more fun.

The Death Eaters skidded to a halt, and the one in front-Scabior, Harry realized his name was-arched a brow at Neville.

"What do you think you're doing, porky?" Scabior asked, and a few of his comrades laughed.

"We're stopping you," Neville informed them, flushing in spite of his attempt a valiance. "You're not taking another step. This is _our_ castle, and your Lord Voldemort isn't here to save you."

"Yes, but who on earth will save you?" Harry had whipped the invisbility cloak off; Rodolphus would have scoffed at his dramatics, but he couldn't help it. Before the two twins could turn fully to face him, he blasted them backwards into a wall. Neville sent a stunner in his direction, but he easily deflected it. "I suppose you're on your own now." He mused aloud, smirking as Neville's face contorted with anger. A nervous sweat had broken out along his hairline. Harry's head tilted sideways, studying Neville as though he were some foreign creature that he did not understand.

"Leave," he said softy, addressing the remaining Death Eaters. Looking uncertainly between the two boys, Scabior hesitated. _"Now_!" They hurriedly obeyed at his sharp tone of voice.

Neville's face was hard, and before Harry could blink, he was firing spells off so rapidly that he was nearly impressed.

Nearly.

Harry returned spell after spell gracefully, with ease, recalling the way his Master executed spells fluently, almost like a second nature. His magic obeyed him like it was tied to his very soul.

"You know, there's a thing about people like you." Neville panted, his face bright from exertion.

Harry's brow arched, his mouth forming a humouring smile, like a parent listening to a child tell a fantastically impossible story. "Oh? And what is that?"

Neville let out a grunt as one of Harry's hexes nicked his arm, a gash appearing just above his elbow. He continued on with a resilience that was almost admirable; he was clearing losing, but it didn't look as though he was giving up anytime soon. "You're a bad guy," Neville told him through clenched teeth. "And the thing about bad guys is, they always lose. Now!"

Several things happened at once. Neville cast a simple reductor in his direction, and Harry lazily waved it off, but at that moment, three curses hit him from behind. With a groan, Harry fell to his knees, reaching back to touch is back. Blood was spilling from a wound there at an alarming rate. Harry suddenly felt very dizzy. He raised his wand to curse Neville, but before the words even left his lips, the dizziness became overwhelming, and he slumped over, his head hitting the stone floor, and everything went black.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys, hope you enjoyed this chapter! I just wanted to say something quickly about Harry: if he isn't acting like himself, and seems more like a reflection of, oh, I dunno, Voldemort, that's because he is;) I wanted to portray that Harry, much like Voldemort, has the weakness of arrogance, and underestimating other's abilities. **

**Seriously. Review. Like now. Even if it's just to say: "Good", "Bad", etc. **


	7. The Lying Game

**A/****N: Hey guys! Sorry the update took so long, spontaneous family vacation! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Harry's eyes flickered open. His head was hurting something terrible, and the ache in his limbs was overwhelming. He tried to move, but realized that he was bound to a chair, ankles and wrists neatly wrapped in tight cords.

He looked around. He realized, belatedly, that he was in the Great Hall. It was eerily silent, and he attempted to get a glimpse out of the doors as they opened. Had the fighting moved upstairs?

"Your 'Lord' has fled to the Forbidden Forest." Harry's head swiveled so quickly that he got a crick in his neck. The man who had addressed him was a tall, balding red-haired man. Harry vaguely wondered if he too was a Weasley. "He called for all of his followers to join him, but apparently you didn't get the memo."

"He was knocked unconscious." Neville appeared at the man's side; he was sporting a very large bruise across his cheek, and his right eye was red and swollen.

"Got him good, too, didn't we?" Another redhead appeared, this one tall and gangly, with a great deal of freckles spattered across his body. His companion, a shorter boy with brown hair, grinned and nodded. His face was covered in soot, as though something had blown up very near to him.

Harry felt his irritation growing by the moment. "I think it's rather cowardly to attack someone when their back is turned," he said coolly.

The gangly redhead rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut it, you scum bag, we're bloody Gryffindors. Don`t talk to us about cowardice. Cowardice is attacking a castle full of bloody children because you know you couldn't handle someone your own size!"

Harry tipped his chair forward, lunging towards the boy's legs. The balding wizard let out a shout, hastily hauling him back upright, and casting a spell to make the chair stay in place. Harry angrily blew a piece of hair out of his face, glaring at the gangly boy.

At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and in strode a tall, bald, black wizard with a single gold hoop in his ear. Harry recognized him from the _Daily Prophet_: Kingsley Shacklebolt. Beside him was yet _another_ redhead, and beside him was Harry's dueling partner from earlier, with the shabby robes and peaky complexion.

The three of them looked solemn, and the gangly boy quickly asked, "What's wrong?"

It was the redhead who answered. "Dumbledore's dead."

A woman who had been approaching them from the opposite direction, a thin woman whose dark hair was tightly bound in a bun, and wore a severe expression on her face, gasped. "No. It can't be!"

Shacklebolt confirmed with a nod of his head. The woman buried her face in her hands, her shoulder shaking. The shabby-robed wizard moved to comfort her. "Minerva, we knew there was always a chance. Albus told us that if he didn't make it out of the duel alive, we had to be prepared to fight on our own."

Minerva nodded. "Yes, Remus, I know, I just-"

Minerva never got to finish though, because at that moment the candles in the room seemed to flicker out, flushing the Great Hall into darkness. Harry's skin prickled, the hair on his arms and neck standing on end. He wished that he could reach his wand...

A voice that he was quite familiar with filled the hall. "You have fought valiantly. The bravery that each of you have exhibited this evening is admirable. But it is unnecessary to fight any longer. Lord Voldemort is merciful; surrender now, and the punishment shall be less severe. I shall give you two hours to dispose of your dead and tend to your wounded. Anyone who comes to meet me in the Forbidden Forest within the next two hours will be offered amnesty. To surrender now would be the wisest option. To fight any longer would be futile. You have two hours."

Even as the lights flickered back on in the Great Hall, a terrified silence had settled over the lot of them. Harry shifted in his chair; if he could just reach his robe pocket...

"What are we going to do?" It was Weasley's Mudblood who had spoken. She stood on the other side of the hall, and had previously been assisting the nurse in healing some of the wounded, but now stood stock still, her arms crossed over her chest defensively, eyes wide.

A blonde boy who sat in the corner suggested, "We could always accept the amnesty offer..." This earned him several glares.

"Don't be an idiot, Smith," the gangly redhead snapped. "He'd sooner kill you." He glanced at Harry then, his eyes narrowing. "What if we strike a bargain with the git? Surrender now, or your precious midget dies?"

Harry took that offensively. He wasn't _that _short.

The shabby-robed wizard-Remus-let out a cynical laugh. "If you think for one minute that Lord Voldemort cares if this runt lives or dies, you've really got a lot of growing up to do."

Harry couldn't even lie; that hurt.

A tall black boy who was sitting next to the dreamy-eyed blonde girl spoke up. "What if we sort of-I dunno-hide? The castle's huge. If we all took up posts around the castle, and ambushed them as they came, couldn't we eventually take the lot of them down?"

Remus rubbed his shadowed jaw, looking pensive. "That actually just might work, Dean. Granted, we would have to be well hidden...otherwise they'd come along and kill the whole lot of us off, but if we were spread out enough through the castle…"

"There's just one problem." It was Ginny who had spoken; Harry had almost forgotten she was there, but considering the ferocity of her gaze upon him now, Harry didn't know how he could have. "This little rat is going to go tell them every single word we say."

"Not if he doesn't make it past the front door." The gangly boy raised his wand threateningly, but the Mudblood swatted his arm down, as though it were a bothersome insect.

"Don't be stupid, Ronald," she chastised. "We'll have to keep him with us."

"What if he hollers and makes a fuss, though? Gives away our hiding place?" The soot-faced boy posed.

"We'll have to put him under a silencing charm."

Harry was liking this idea less and less. All he wanted was to get back to Uncle Rod and Aunt Bella. He hadn't signed up to play Prisoner of War.

"I've got another idea," Ginny said, and quite suddenly, whirled on him, her wand aimed directly at his face. The grin on her lips told him that she was going to enjoy this way more than she should.

"_Stupefy!_"

Bugger.

* * *

When Harry awoke for the second time that night, he had no idea where he was, and was mutinously annoyed. Across from him was a long sofa and an assortment of mismatched arm chairs. Ginny was flung out across the sofa, her head resting against the redhead who had come in with Shacklebolt. The gangly redhead-Ronald, the Mudblood had called him-was sitting in an armchair, his legs flung over the side, twirling his wand in between his fingers. Remus was examining a far wall, which seemed to be lined with shelves upon shelves of books. The Mudblood was standing a few feet away from him, and the two of them were discussing something in hushed voices.

"Where are we?" He asked, his voice coming out as more of a croak. Ronald smirked.

"That's for us to know, and for you to probably never find out."

Harry looked away from him. The boy had a habit of grating on Harry's nerves. The older red haired boy looked up, his face surprisingly kind for addressing an enemy, and asked, "If you don't mind a little interrogation, what's your name?"

Harry scowled and said nothing.

A frown formed on the young man's face. "It could be worse you know. We could be subjecting you to the torture curse, or worse. You know it's what you're people would have done if they had captured one of us. We're treating you quite cordially."

Harry knew he was right. If one of them had been captured, Bellatrix would have been subjecting them to varied doses of the Cruciatus Curse, as well as her strange obsession with Muggle knives.

That didn't make him anymore open to sharing. Harry thought they were stupid not to be torturing him. That meant that when he escaped from these stupid confinement, he would be a full strength to attack them.

"I'm Bill," the young man offered after a few minutes of silence. "I'm a Curse Breaker for Gringotts."

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes. Honestly...

"Harry." He said shortly. "I'm Harry."

Bill smiled, far too kind of a smile to be directed at a Death Eater. Ron was shooting him bewildered glances. "Nice to meet you, Harry. So how did you get into the Death Eater business?"

As if he was going to tell him something like that! What did he think Harry was, stupid?

Bill grinned at his expression. "The Veritaserum will be up in a moment, so I'm just loosening you up.

Harry's eyes widened, despite himself. A faint pink tinge coloured his cheeks, and Bill's grin widened. He wondered for a moment if Bill was lying, but the thought had only just crossed his mind when the door swung open, and a disarmingly beautiful blonde woman floated into the room. She glided gracefully over to Bill, and handed him a vial full of a clear liquid that Harry recognize immediately.

"Thank you, darling." Bill smiled as she pressed her lips against his forehead. "Be safe." He added more seriously, and she nodded and floated back out of the room, closing the door behind her. Ron's eyes were hazy.

"Bloody Veela." He grumbled, but Harry's eyes were trained warily on Bill, who was unscrewing the vial with care. His eyes darted around the room, looking for any means of escape. What if they asked him the location of their safe house? Information that would help them defeat Voldemort-

Bill was on his feet, and approaching him slowly now. "Relax, Harry, it isn't like its poison."

Harry would have preferred that it was. Oh, what his Master would do when he found out that Harry had betrayed some of his deepest secrets-

He was sudden seized by a frantic panic, and he jerked away from the oldest Weasley's figure, tilting over his chair and using his legs to propel him away from the man, fear evident in his eyes. He had to get away-_get away-get away-_

"Ron, _help me_!" Bill grunted as Harry delivered a solid kick to his stomach. His brother hurried over, and together the two of them hauled Harry's chair upright, stabilizing it with a spell. He wanted to scream, to yell for help, though he knew no one would hear him. He shook his head frantically, clenching his jaw tightly as Bill attempted to force-feed him the potion. His limbs were trembling, and he felt as though he couldn't breathe. He vaguely realized that he was having a panic attack, and before he could control himself, his mouth opened in an ear-shattering scream, his heart pounding against his rib cage so hard that it hurt.

"_Can't-can't-can't mustn't tell-mustn't share my Master's secrets-must stay strong-must fight-fight-fight-can't let him find out-he'll curse me-he'll curse me-curse me-kill me-he'll kill me-HE'LL KILL ME!"_

Harry knew he wasn't making any sense, nor did he register that both of the Weasley boys had moved away from him, and that all five inhabitants of the room were staring at him, shocked and horrified. He gasped and gasped until he could finally feel the air filling his lungs, the banging in his head lessening, if only marginally. He realized that his fingernails, which had been clenching the sides of his face, had drawn blood, and he tasted it on the corner of his mouth. He blinked, regaining some of his composure, and stared impassively at the group of them, as though he hadn't just gone momentarily insane.

_"Er...who _will kill you, Harry?"

He glared determinedly at the opposite wall, but Bill shifted, and the ceiling lights caught on the bottle of Veritaserum. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, which was now sore. Perhaps if he told them the little things, which would not compromise his Master, they would not force him to drink the Veritaserum.

"My Master, of course." He arched an eyebrow, as though unimpressed with Bill's question.

"Your Master being L-Lord Voldemort?" The Mudblood clarified. Harry didn't answer her, but he didn't need to.

Bill was clutching the vial of Veritaserum in one hand, his wand loosely hanging from the other. Harry tilted his head sideways. He standing just close enough, if he took him by surprise, perhaps he could grab the wand with his _teeth_—

"He—he wouldn't actually _kill_ you, would he?" Ronald asked skeptically, his face arranged into a stupid expression of bewilderment. Harry rolled his eyes, refusing to look at the boy, and instead addressing the ceiling.

"How _else _do you think he keeps the lot of us under control?"

The Mudblood let out a tiny gasp.

He finally looked back at the lot of them, his expression hard. "I'm not going to drink that. I'll pitch myself into that fire there and burn to death before I tell you _anything_." He was lying, of course; it didn't particularly fancy the idea of burning to death, though it might be a preferable to his Master's punishment.

Bill let out a heavy exhale, running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he said finally, looking displeased. "Moody wouldn't be happy, but—Merlin, I won't be responsible for the death of a kid…"

Remus moved away from the shelves across the room, his arms folded behind his back as he stood next to the sofa inhabited by Ginny. "Can—can you tell us, at least, who you are, Harry?"

He arched an eyebrow, his gaze wandering, unimpressed, over the shabby wizard. He regarded the light tint of his complexion, almost sickly, and the weariness in his countenance. In the firelight, Harry noticed something he hadn't noticed before; faint, almost translucent scars ran along his face, along his neck and forearms, where his shirt-sleeves had been rolled up.

"You're a werewolf." It wasn't a question. Harry had never met one before, but he had read various books on them, and wondered why he hadn't seen it earlier.

Remus attempted to keep his expression blasé, but Harry saw his eye twitch. He managed a jerky nod, before saying in a quiet voice, "I am." He paused, then, "Where are you from, Harry? Lord Voldemort doesn't usually recruit so young."

"I'm not young!" Harry snarled, jerking against his bounds. "And my Lord recognizes _true _talent, regardless of what form it comes in."

He did not miss the look shared between Remus and Bill.

The werewolf moved a bit closer, and the scars became more pronounced in the stronger light. His eyes were roving over Harry's face in such a way that made him immensely uncomfortable. "And…what is your surname, Harry?"

He frowned, weighing the question in his mind. Would it be any harm, telling them? "Lestrange." He said finally. "Harry Lestrange."

Remus' brows flew up to his hairline. "I…was not aware that Bellatrix and Rodolphus had a child."

Harry shook his head jerkily. "They don't. Bellatrix and Rodolphus are my Aunt and Uncle. My father is Rodolphus' brother, Roelof."

If the werewolf looked confused before, it was nothing compared to his expression now. He paced slowly in front of Harry, his mouth twisted into a frown and his brows furrowed heavily above his surprisingly sharp brown eyes. It was a few moments before he spoke again. "Your…father. He died, I presume?"

The dark-haired boy scowled, looking down at his feet. "Yeah. When I was young. You would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Remus shot him a questioningly look, but didn't have time to answer, because at that moment, Shacklebolt came through the door. "Our two hours are up," he informed the lot of them in his slow, grave voice. "At this time, all of the hiding locations will be warded and concealed." He paused, addressing Remus as he withdrew something from his cloak. "This was found on the boy; Professor McGonagall said you might know what to do with it." With a departing nod, Shacklebolt left, and they could hear him muttering spells outside the door. A strange buzzing seemed to envelope the entryway, and then, there was nothing but silence.

Harry peered more closely at the item in Remus's hand. With horror, he realized that it was the invisibility cloak. He realize he must have dropped it when they attacked him in the hallway from behind. Remus was staring at it with familiarity.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, his sharp eyes probing Harry.

He sat back, pursing his lips, and said nothing.

Without another word, Remus shot a spell at him. Harry was suddenly unable to move, frozen rock solid in his chair. He attempted to struggle, to yell, anything, but it was all in vain.

"Give him the Veritaserum, Bill." Remus said calmly, but his mien was almost wild.

Bill looked between the two of them uncertainly. "Remus…"

"_Now!" _

Sighing, Bill withdrew the potion from his robes, and handed it wordlessly to Remus. The man strode over to Harry and forced it down his throat. The boy nearly felt like crying; after all the struggle, after all of the fight he'd put into it, this was the end he was going to come to. He was going to betray his Master, _all _of his secrets, and there was nothing he could do to stop it."

Remus peered at Harry, his kind face strangely hard. "Where did you get that cloak, Harry?"

It was the strangest sensation he had ever felt; it was almost as though the words were being forced out of his mouth. Like vomit, it was unrestrainable, and unable to be contained. He momentarily contemplated chewing off his own tongue, but when he opened his mouth, the words tumbled out, "I found it."

The werewolf let out a haggard grunt, grasping his shoulders very suddenly and shaking him. "Found it _where_?"

"Remus, what—"

He whirled on Bill, who was standing tentatively behind him. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione stood behind the coach fearfully. "That cloak was on Sirius Black the night he was captured!"

Bill's face dawned with comprehension, and Harry saw him swallow thickly. "Does that mean he's—Sirius is—"

Remus turned back to Harry, bending down slightly so that he could look him straight in the eye. "_Where_ did you find it, Harry?"

He gritted his teeth, but the words pushed themselves out anyway. "It—it fell out of a cloak…one of my Master's prisoners."

The werewolf looked mad, deranged as he ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Where is that prisoner, Harry? The one who had the cloak?"

"He's—he's dead." If they asked who killed him, Harry would be doomed for sure. It was obvious that the werewolf and that man—Sirius—were accountably good friends. His theory was proven correct when Remus stumbled away from him, collapsing against the couch, his face buried in his hands. Bill put one hand on his shoulder, and Harry was suddenly very conscious of the fact that the atmosphere in the room had entirely shifted.

Ron, who seemed ever jovial, sunk down into his arm chair, looking very pale, his numerous freckles standing out against his skin. The Mudblood had her hands over her mouth, and tears were streaming down her face. Even Ginny was silent, her jaw clenched as she stared down at the ground, her hair falling in a vibrant curtain around her face.

For some bizarre reason, Harry felt his chest tighten at the sight of this. It was he—_he—_who had caused these people such pain, such anguish. It was he who had taken away their beloved friend. He imagined that this was how he would feel if someone told him that Aunt Bella, or Uncle Rod had been killed. Like a part of himself had been ripped out of his chest.

He cleared his throat, staring down at his feet. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Bill appeared in his peripheral vision. The red-haired man pulled up a chair next to him, sinking into it with a weariness that seemed more appropriate for a man twice his age. "How did your parents die, Harry?"

He had almost forgotten that the Veritaserum was still in his system. All of his guilt from the previous moments disappeared, and he leveled his gaze with Bill's, so wrathful and vindictive that he saw that older man flinch. "They were murdered. Attacked by the Order of the Phoenix."

Bill frowned. "Harry, are you sure that's how it happened? That doesn't exactly sound like something we would—"

He was interrupted though, by a patronus, which appeared in the middle of the room. He couldn't identify it, but as it spoke, he recognized the voice of the red-haired balding man from the Great Hall, the eldest Weasley. "_The Death Eaters are in the castle." _He spoke in a hushed voice. "_We're taking down as many of them as we can. Voldemort searches for Harry."_

The patronus disappeared in a wisp of light, and the room was very silent in the moments following its departure. Finally, Ronald spat at Harry, "What makes you so bloody important?"

Harry tilted his head back slight, looking down his nose condescendingly at the Weasley boy. "My Lord takes care of his best soldier."

The Weasley girl snorted, and his gaze shot to her. "Best soldiers, right, best soldier that gets bested by a couple of Gryffindors." He scowled at her, but before he could send back a sharp retort, Bill intervened.

"Why didn't Voldemort let you come to Hogwarts, Harry?"

He froze. Surely the Veritaserum would have worn off by now. Because he really couldn't—really _shouldn't—_

"He said it isn't safe," Harry said curtly, his scowl deepening. "Doesn't want me around anyone who could be a threat." He tried to stop there, but his mouth kept moving, as though it couldn't help itself. "He never let me go anywhere by myself; not Diagon Alley, or London, or even _outside—_I always had someone watching me."

His eyes flickered aimlessly around the room, immensely irritated. The Weasley girl was staring at him with a frown. Next to her, Remus, who had not moved since Harry had broken the news of Sirius's death, sat up, his bloodshot eyes zeroing in on Harry's face. "What did you say?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Out of all the things he had told them, this seemed the least important. Why was the werewolf so curious? "I said that I always had someone watching me. A—Aunty Bella and Uncle Rod were always paranoid that someone would try to—I dunno—_take _me, or something. They were never that parsimonious with Draco."

Remus was looking incredibly inquisitive now, and Harry thought, nervously, that he might have said too much. How much longer would the Veritaserum last? "Do you have any memories? Of your parents, I mean."

The werewolf was on his feet, and it made Harry anxious. He shifted slightly in his chair, glaring up at him. "No…" He paused. Something was niggling in the back of his mind, telling him that this was not the full-truth, and before he could stop it, the words came up. "Sometimes—sometimes I have dreams." He cursed, biting his tongue as hard as he could, but even the pain couldn't take back what he just said.

Remus moved closer to him, almost breathless with excitement. "What sort of dreams, Harry?"

Harry's breathing was very shallow. "No—no I won't—I can't—I have dreams about—about my parents, I think, but—but they can't be. But…in my dreams—sometimes I think I look _a bit _like the man…"

"What do they look like Harry?" The werewolf's face was very close to his own, as his eyes were bright.

"They…" Quite suddenly, he felt the pressure at the back of his throat disappear, and he let out a sigh of relief, feeling all of the tension flood out of his body. With a burst of exhilaration, he looked up at Remus, with a challenging grin, "I don't have to tell you anything."

The werewolf, cursed, leaning back and running another hand through his already-mussed hair. "Get more Veritaserum," he commanded Bill.

The redhead gave him an apologetic look. "You heard what Shacklebolt said, Remus. We can't leave the room."

He cursed again, and to Harry's surprise, kicked over an end table in frustration. He was certain that the werewolf actually _was _mad now as he paced in exacerbation behind the sofa. Harry felt an immature sort of satisfaction at seeing him so upset. There. That would teach them not to pick his brain anymore.

But he was also slightly unnerved. Why had the werewolf seemed so fascinated by his past? It only dragged up all the uncomfortable questions that had flashed through Harry's mind throughout his childhood, and even more so as of recently. Was there something that his aunt and uncle were keeping from him, and if so, why?

"What do you need to know that's so important, Remus?" Bill asked gently, after Remus had thrown _another _book against the wall.

The wizard spun on him, his face contorted with ill-concealed lunacy. "That's—it's not—I think he's been lied to. His childhood—it brings me back to a question—a theory, really—that I've had in my head for years." Remus's eyes wandered over to Harry, and the young man was almost startled by the intensity of his gaze. "Sixteen years, to be precise."

Remus hesitated, and then strode over to Harry, sinking down on his haunches so that they were almost level, and stared him directly in the eye. "I know that you don't have Veritaserum in your system." He said, surprisingly soft for how psychotic he had been acting moments before. "The chances of you being honest with me are very slim. But I just want to ask you one question, if you are so founded in your beliefs."

Despite himself, Harry's curiosity got the better of him, and he nodded for Remus to continue.

The werewolf took a deep breath. "Have you ever heard the name 'Harry Potter'?"

* * *

** A/N: I normally don't do cliffhangers, but it seemed necessary! So there's the next chapter, ladies and gents! I hope you enjoyed Harry's little panic attack-I certainly enjoyed writing it-and I really wanted to give you lovely readers some insight on exactly how frightened Harry is of his Master. I really, really loved writing this chapter, and I'm super excited to continue onto the next one-stuff if starting to go down! **

**Teaser: **

**The Weasley girl gave him an impish grin. "Well, I wouldn't say that exactly." She tossed her red hair over her shoulder, flipping through her book idly before glancing back up at him. "Seamus is rather accomplished at blowing things up. He's not _completely _incompetent."**

**Harry scowled, refusing to look at her, and instead studying the ceiling. "Regardless, my talents far outmatch any mere student. The only reason he bested me was because it was a cheap-shot."**

**He saw her arch a single brow, looking back down at the book in her lap. Her legs were crossed in front of her, and her hair fell around, blocking his view of her face. "Careful, Lestrange," came her teasing reply from behind the curtain of red. "With an ego like that, someone might think you're...compensating for something."**

**Cheers! Review!**


	8. Dragons and Discoveries

**A/N: Okay, okay, I'll update. Despite the fact that the number of reviews for this story is still, admittedly, dismal. C'mon guys, show me some love! Thank you to the readers that did review-it's very much appreciated!**

**One quick disclaimer: there's quite a bit in this chapter that was taken, word for word, from Deathly Hallows, just because it was plot-relevant, so any familiar content belongs to the lovely J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

Harry stared incredulously at Remus, waiting for some bout of recognition to hit him, but it never came. Not that he would have told him anyway. He sneered, unimpressed, at the werewolf, and said in a rather rude tone, "No. Why? Did he steal one of your cubs?"

He saw Ronald draw his wand, but his brother quickly interceded, before he got the chance to hex Harry.

His curiosity, though, was still burning, despite the fact that he had attempted to look uninterested. "Who is he?" he asked off-handedly.

Remus and Bill shared another look.

"Strange," Bill remarked. "That your Master never mentioned him. It was, after all, one of his crowning achievements."

Harry felt a twinge of—_something_—in his chest. His Master told him everything, and when he didn't, it was for his own safety. Had this _Harry Potter _been a threat to him? Was _he _the reason that Harry could never do anything by himself? _Go _anywhere by himself? "Crowning achievements?" Harry's words were nonchalant, and he vaguely picked at his nails as he spoke them, but from his peripherals, he pinned Bill with his gaze.

The two men hesitated, but it was Remus who spoke first. "Harry Potter is…he was the son of one of my best friends, James Potter, and his wife, Lily." He paused, seeming uncomfortable at the way that every inhabitant of the room had their eyes glued to him. The Mudblood sat perched on the sofa, next to the Weasley girl, and Ronald sat with his hands folded in front of him, staring at Remus attentively.

"On October 31st, of 1981, Lord Voldemort came to their home in Godric's Hollow. He murdered Lily and James Potter, and…"

At this point in the story, Remus appeared uncertain.

"What?" Harry urged, not bothering to conceal his excitement.

"Well, that's the thing…no one knows. It's…assumed that the baby, Harry, died as well. The house was blown to pieces, so none of the bodies were recovered intact, but...after thorough excavation, there _were _remains of—of James and Lily found about the place, but…"

"But no Harry," he finished himself, and the werewolf nodded. Harry's head was pounding. "But—but why was this my Master's crowning achievement?"

Remus's brow puckered. "There was a prophecy. It was only relayed to us recently, by D—Dumbledore, but the basics of it were that, well…"

"It's Neville, who found it." It was the Mudblood who had spoken, and he shot her a surprised glance. "At the Department of Mysteries. We couldn't hear it, but he recited it to us later." She paused, closing her eyes, as if attempting to recall something. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... neither can live while the other survives." She frowned. "Something like that, anyway."

Harry's heart was racing, though he wasn't certain why. "So, he thought the prophecy was about Harry Potter?"

Remus nodded exhaustedly. "Dumbledore said it could have been Neville—he was born at the end of July, too—but for some reason or another, Voldemort chose Harry." His gaze landed sharply on Harry's face again, and the boy fidgeted, discomfited.

"But, the prophecy's been fulfilled, then," he remarked confusedly. "Neither can live while the other survives, Voldemort killed him, it's finished."

"Maybe," Remus replied uncertainly, moving closer to Harry. The fire cast shadows on his face, making the lines in his skin deeper, harsher. "Maybe the Dark Lord chose the wrong boy." He moved even closer, his voice dropping to not much more than a whisper. "Maybe…maybe he never killed Harry Potter in the first place."

"Where do you think Harry is then?" Harry swallowed. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Remus cocked his head to the side, studying him like a curious child. "Why don't you tell me?"

Harry wanted to leap away from him, to run from the room, but as the thoughts crossed his mind, his binds pressed tightly into his arms and legs. He scowled. "This is stupid. You're living in the past. Potter's dead, the Dark Lord has won, and you had best just accept it."

The werewolf shook his head, and the knowing expression on his face made Harry want to retch. "I'm not so certain. Haven't you ever noticed anything strange around your family, Harry? Haven't they ever said anything that made you wonder…?"

Flashes of the conversation he had overheard days ago swam through his mind. _We completely changed his appearance. We only changed his hair and eyes. _His mind had been a torrent of confusion that night, but were these the answers he had been so desperately searching for?

He shook his head, glaring at Remus with as much malice as he could muster. "You're a liar and a fool."

"When's your birthday, Harry?"

Harry's chest clenched painfully again. Had Uncle Rod and Aunty Bella been _lying _to him all these years? Was his Master—who he had so ardently admired—only his Master because he had originally set out to murder him?

He didn't answer Remus. He couldn't. Instead, he hoarsely asked, "Mr. and Mrs. Potter. What did they look like?"

Silently, Remus withdrew a photo from the folds of his robes. Harry took it from his outstretched hand, almost afraid to look at it. But bravely, he clenched his teeth, and his eyes settled on the photo in front of him. Immediately, he wished he hadn't. He suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.

The young couple stood with their arms around each other, and every so often, the man would lean down to press his lips against the woman's forehead. He had shaggy black hair, impossibly messy, and hazel eyes, which were encapsulated by a pair of wire-rim glasses. The woman was very pretty, with a long drape of red hair, darker then Ginny's, bordering on auburn, and incredibly bright, almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes.

They looked _exactly _like the couple from his dreams.

As he peered at the man—James—he was startled to notice that they had the same bone structure; their lips were shaped the same, their eyebrows, even their noses, though the older wizard's was slightly longer. His eyes were the same shape as Lily's. Harry was mortified to feel his eyes well-up a bit. He looked back up at Remus, glaring furiously.

"How—what are you playing at?"

Remus reached over, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Harry brushed it off. "You're lying!" He practically shouted, feeling rage bursting inside of him, his magic prickling angrily on the surface of his skin. He struggled against his bonds, tilting the chair back and forth. "You're lying!"

His fury was unprecedented, and—he realized belatedly—not directed at Remus, or Bill, or any of the other occupants in the room. He felt betrayal, so deeply rooted that it tore at him, his chest burning with resentment and humiliation and hurt. He felt like cursing someone—like _killing _someone—

"Harry, please—"

At that moment, another patronus appeared, different then the first. The entire room fell silent at the sight of it, waiting with bated breath. "_Voldemort has retreated back to the Forbidden Forest_." It was the tall, thin witch's voice—McGonagall. "_If we do not return the boy to him by dawn, he will lay siege upon the castle, and none will be left alive." _

Remus, Bill, Ronald, Ginny, and the Mudblood all seemed unsure of what to do. Finally, Bill said, "Perhaps we should head down to the Great Hall…consult Shacklebolt."

Harry's heart pounded against his rib cage. Were they going to return him to his Master? He felt fear and relief all at once at this thought; perhaps it was just one big misunderstanding. They could be lying…maybe he should put _them _under Veritaserum.

He was distracted, however, when the Weasley girl turned her wand on him. "What are you doing?" Surely, she wasn't going to knock him out for the journey _back _to the Great Hall as well?

"Sorry," she said, not looking sorry at all. "Can't have you knowing _all _our secrets."

Harry sighed, barely even wincing as the burst of red light hurtled towards him.

Bugger.

* * *

He awoke, once again, in the Great Hall, but was surprised to find that he was no longer bound to a chair, but instead had been deposited rather haphazardly on a bench near the center of the room. A few feet away from him, a large group of people were gathered, and they appeared to be arguing.

"—I understand that having something that Voldemort wants could be means of bargaining, Mr. Thomas, but perhaps we should use this opportunity to, as they say, live to fight another day. We could take this time to evacuate all of the younger children—"

"So, what, he can attack their houses _tomorrow_?" Yet _another _Weasley boy, this one thickly muscled and stocky, with so many freckles that he looked tanned, and a various number of burns decorating his body, stood with his arms across his chest, glaring at the witch with more brutality than Harry thought Gryffindors capable of.

Harry looked around as the group continued to bicker. To his surprise, the Weasley girl was perched at the end of the bench with a book in her hands. As if she sensed his gaze, she looked up, smirking at him wryly. "They're not a particularly acquiescent lot, are they?"

He didn't reply, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "What are they going to do with me?"

She quirked a brow, shrugging her shoulder. "_That_, my friend, is as good of your guess as it is of mine."

He winced at the endearment, his eyes flitting over her figure appraisingly. "What are you reading, anyway?" he asked, feigning boredom.

She glanced down at her book, then back up at him. "_Quidditch through the Ages_."

His brows disappeared behind his hairline. "They have—they have a _book _about Quidditch?"

She looked astonished, as though at any moment she expected him to start laughing. "Erm…yeah. Haven't you read it?"

Harry shook his head. "My Master only let me read books on that which would help me improve my capabilities. He always considered Quidditch a distraction but I…." he paused, wondering if he should admit it to the girl, but decided that it was no harm to do so. "…I love Quidditch."

"You any good?"

He puffed out his chest a bit. "Well, I've only ever played in the backyard with Draco, and only ever when the Master was away. He says he's on the house team, and I can outfly him in my sleep."

She nodded. "Draco's alright, but I can outfly him. The _real _challenge is Diggory. Now he was a real menace, back before he graduated."

Harry sniffed, trying not to seem dissatisfied that she hadn't been impressed. "Yes, well, I'm sure I could've handled it. I tend to excel at everything I do."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know. My brother and Seamus hexed you a good one a few hours ago. Not so excellent then, were you?"

If her mocking tone was intended to incense him, it succeeded.

"Your brother's incompetence is apparent before he opens his mouth," he snarled harshly. "And this _Seamus_ doesn't seem any more capable. I could beat them with my eyes closed in a fair duel."

The Weasley girl gave him an impish grin. "Well, I wouldn't say that exactly." She tossed her red hair over her shoulder, flipping through her book idly before glancing back up at him. "Seamus is rather accomplished at blowing things up. He's not completely incompetent."

Harry scowled, refusing to look at her, and instead studying the ceiling. "Regardless, my talents far outmatch any mere student. The only reason he bested me was because it was a cheap-shot."

He saw her arch a single brow, looking back down at the book in her lap. Her legs were crossed in front of her, and her hair fell around her, blocking his view of her face. "Careful, Potter," came her teasing reply from behind the curtain of red. "With an ego like that, someone might think you're...compensating for something."

Harry's face had never felt so hot. He spluttered for a response, but could find none. Ginny was still looking carefully down at her book, but if he looked closely enough, he could see the corners of her grin peeking out from behind her hair. "Don't call me Potter," he grumbled finally.

She looked back up at him, her amusement gone to be replaced with surprise. "Don't—don't' call you Potter? Don't tell me you're still attached to those scum bag Lestranges—"

"I've known you lot for—for hours!" He retorted, scrambling for a defense, anything, to explain his jumbled up thoughts, his strange inability to accept the possibility that Aunt Bella and Uncle Rod had lied to him, that the people who had raised him, practically as their own child, had been deceiving him all this time. What was worse—so much worse—was the thought that Lord Voldemort, his Master, and perhaps the closest thing he had ever had to a father-figure, had set out that night with the intention of killing him. _Murdering him_. A one-year-old infant.

Ginny peered at him when he fell silent, and she must have read something in his facial expression, because she said, in a softer voice, "I know you're hurt. I would be hurt, too—"

"I'm not hurt—" he snapped immediately, but was silenced when several people walked over to the two of them. Shacklebolt was among them, as well as Mr. Weasley, Bill, Remus, and McGonagall. They stared at him for several uncomfortable minutes, and Harry considered attacking them the old-fashioned Muggle way.

"He doesn't look like either of them," Shacklebolt said finally.

"He does if you look close," Remus countered. "I suspect they have a very powerful glamour on him, but I couldn't even tell you how to remove it." McGonagall stepped forward, withdrawing her wand and moving it over Harry, who followed it warily with his eyes.

"Yes, it's a glamour," she said finally, stepping away and surveying him grimly. "Incredibly powerful. None of us could undo it; it seems to have been put in place by Lord Voldemort himself, but…there are other means of removal—"

"The Thief's Downfall," Bill supplied. "At Gringotts. It's extremely powerful, and can get past even the strongest enchantments—"

"But how would we sneak him out?" Remus asked. "Voldemort's got the place surrounded. He doesn't want anyone leaving. He's got tabs on the floo network, portkeys, apparation…and there's no way we could fly out without him noticing—"

"What if we used one of the secret passages?" One of the twins had appeared at his brother's side. "They could get us into Hogsmeade, without the Death Eaters knowing."

"Then we will do it." Shacklebolt confirmed. "Send the younger students home to their families; everyone else will meet at a safe-house. Bill can get the Potter boy into Gringotts, and once we've confirmed his identity—"

"WAIT!"

Dozens of heads swiveled towards Harry, and he fought off the blush that rose to his cheeks. "Don't I get a say in _any _of this? What if I don't want to fight with you lot?"

Remus blinked, befuddled. "Harry…these people have lied to you for sixteen years—"

"Right, and they also raised me," he reminded them. "I'm not exactly going to go off a whim and believed the fantastical stories of a stranger—"

"Just let us take you to Gringotts," Bill suggested, not unkindly. "_If _there really is a glamour, and if we get it removed, then at least you know that something's not right with that family of yours…you can go back, and question them about it yourself."

There was an outbreak of whispers at Bill's last statement, but he ignored them, looking levelly at Harry. The dark-haired boy stared back at him, his mind whirring at a million miles an hour. He couldn't trust these people—he was certain of that—but what if McGonagall was right? If there really _was _a glamour on him—if the Lestranges had changed his appearance when he was only a child—he needed to find out _why_? Could he really go back to the Manor and live out the rest of his days as though nothing had changed?

"Fine," he said finally. "_Fine_. But I swear, if you let that bloody bint knock me out one more time…"

And so, they were off. Shacklebolt and McGonagall gathered the younger students who had not already evacuated and sent them down the passage first, where Aberforth, in Hogsmeade, would arrange their transportation home. Six safe-houses were set up across Britain, and Harry had been told he would be going to the Weasleys' after his excursion to Gringotts. He didn't know whether or not he should be pleased.

He and Bill were the last to leave. They disapparated from Hogsmeade, and landed right outside of Gringotts, in a dingy little alleyway. It was early morning, so the streets of Diagon Alley were practically empty. Before they went in, Bill turned to him, looking very serious. "You'll want to put that cloak on," he told him, nodding to the bulging folds of his robes. "Because you're missing, Voldemort's probably got the place on high-alert, and we don't know how many pairs of eyes and ears he has in there."

Harry nodded, pulling the cloak over himself, before following Bill closely into the tall, white building. He had seen Gringotts before, but never actual been inside. The interior was magnificent, with large marble pillars and smooth granite floors. One either side of him, goblins sat perched behind the high desks. They looked unfriendly, the lot of them.

Bill approached the head desk, giving a wry grin to the goblin posted there. "Evening, Bogrod," he greeted. "I've come for the enchantment inspections."

The goblin's lined face folded in to a frown. "Ah, yes, Weasley, but I thought we weren't due until next week!"

"Date got changed," Bill said smoothly, without a second of hesitation. Harry was rather impressed. "The Ministry wanted to get it out of the way as their focuses lie…elsewhere." He and the goblin—Bogrod—shared a look, and after a moment, the latter nodded.

"Of course!" he granted. "I shall have Fandrake lead you immediately." No sooner had the words been spoken did another goblin appear at their side. He gave Bill a nod, and led them off through one of the doors leading out of the main hall. The three of them clambered into a cart—Harry rather uncomfortably, as he had to use one hand to hold onto the cloak—and it shot down the tracks, moving so quickly that he felt his eyes water. If Fandrake was bothered by the speed, he didn't show it; he steered them through flips and turns with practiced ease, and Bill seemed relatively used to it, as well.

Down, down, down, they went, deeper than Harry could have ever imagined. He felt as though they were miles underground, and the air grew colder the further they dropped. The tracks were rickety, and it made his stomach lurch unpleasantly.

They rounded a sharp corner, and up ahead, Harry saw a waterfall pounding over the track. "This is it," Harry heard Bill mutter. They shot through it, and, with a terrible lurch, Harry felt their cart flip, and they were thrown out of it. Harry barely had time to scream, before Bill shouted a cushioning charm, and he felt himself floating downward, as though weightless. He landed gently on the stone floor, and knelt down, waiting for his heaving stomach to settle.

"Always a bit woolly, that," Bill said, looking remarkably calm considering the fact that they had just been thrown out of a cart hundreds of feet above the ground. "It only does that when someone in the cart actually _does _have a glamour on, but it's unnerving all the same."

Harry finally made his way to his feet, his hands slipping against the stone. Fandrake was staring unblinkingly at him. He realized, a moment too late, that the Invisibility cloak was at his feet. He scooped it up, stuffing it into his robes.

"You imposter!" Fandrake shrieked, pointing a long-nailed finger at him. "IMPOSTER!" Bill shot a spell at him, and the goblin flew backwards, hitting the wall behind him and falling unconscious.

"Sorry about that, mate," the red-head called sympathetically. "It's easier then explaining that we weren't trying to steal anything," he added to Harry. The younger wizard, though, was blinking at Bill. His vision was blurry, almost as though there was a film in from of his eyes.

The red head looked up at the huge expanse above them. The tracks wound their way through the space, like a complex spider web. "Now, the question is, how do we get out?"

Harry stared at him, gaping disbelievingly. "You didn't—you mean, you didn't think of that before-hand?"

Bill's grin was half-wicked, half-sheepish. "I'm more of a fly by the seat of my trousers type of guy, you know? We'll find a way out. The only problems is, now _that _lot—" he pointed a fingers upwards towards where Harry suspected the main hall was. "—Thinks we've come down here to nick something." He suddenly frowned, scrutinizing Harry's face probingly. "Blimey, that's weird to get used to."

Harry had been so caught up, he had almost forgotten why they had come down here in the first place. With a gasp, he picked up a small stone at his feet, and transfigured it into a hand-mirror.

His vision was still acting up, but he could clearly see that the Thief's Downfall had definitely worked. Gone were his dark curls, and dark brown eyes. They had been replaced, instead, by a shaggy mess of unruly hair, and bright emerald orbs that peered back at him curiously. He ran a hand through his hair, unable to take his eyes off of his face, which had changed so little, yet seemed so different. He looked—it was almost as though he looked—

He looked like his _father_.

His _real _father. The father he had never known, or even known _of_. He was suddenly very inquisitive; he wanted to ask Remus what he had been like. Had he been very serious? Funny? Short-tempered? Caring? Loving? Clever? What thoughts laid behind that face?

And his _mother_. Her eyes shone brightly from beneath his father's thick, unruly brows. She, he could tell, had been clever. Kind. He wondered if she had rocked him to sleep at night. If she had sat beside his pram, telling him stories.

Harry felt a rage that he had never felt before well up within him. What gave Lord Voldemort the right to take Harry's life—what could have been—away from him? How dare he intercede in something that he couldn't even begin to understand? How dare he convince Harry, so fully, that he would protect him from the dangers of the world, simply because he cared about him, when in reality, the only thing Harry should have been afraid of, was _him_.

"Harry?" Bill's voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned his burning green gaze upon the wizard, who looked surprised by the sudden wrath in his eyes. "Er…I've got an idea on how we can get out, but, I'm afraid it's a bit….theatrical."

The younger wizard's brows furrowed. What did Bill mean?

He didn't get too long to deliberate it, however, because, at that moment, they heard shouts from above. Bill rushed over to Fandrake, enervating the goblin, and whispered a quiet, "_Imperio_."

The three of them sprinted across the stone floor. Harry stumbled over a stone at some point-how _hadn't _he seen that there?-and the two of them raced down a winding corridor that seemed to continue on for ages and ages, until Bill came to an abrupt stop, and Harry had to use all of his strength to keep from running into him. He looked around Bill to see why he had stopped, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Not fifty feet away from them sat a huge, scaly dragon. Its golden eyes had zeroed in on the three of them, and it let out a sizzling huff. Harry stumbled back, and Bill grabbed something from the Imperio'd goblin, tossing Harry a set as well.

"They're clankers," Bill shouted over the noise as he began to shake the object. The shouts from above were growing louder. "The dragons are trained to anticipate pain whenever they here this sound." The three of them skirted around the huge beast, and when they reached the other side of him, Bill led them up onto a platform. He instructed Harry and Fandrake to continue distracting the dragon with the noise, and he, with a proficiency that Harry admired, aimed his wand at the tethers restraining the dragon, and shouted. "_Relashio!" _The cuffs broke open, and Harry whirled on Bill, flabbergasted.

"_What, are you mad_?" He practically screamed over the sound of the clankers and the noises that were drawing steadily nearer from above them.

"I told you it was theatrical!" Bill shouted back, giving Harry a roguish wink and, with a running start, he leapt onto the dragon's back. "C'mon!"

This was mad. No, this was beyond mad. This was _insane_. Harry had never done something so reckless in his entire life.

It was—sort of—the best thing he'd ever felt.

Cursing, he edged backwards, until he was against the wall, and then, squinting into the dim lighting, sprinted across the platform, leaping towards the dragon and landing behind Bill, grasping the scales on its back for dear life. "Hold on!" Bill called. He shot another spell behind him, and it collided with the dragon's soft underbelly. With a roar, the dragon pushed itself to its feet, its wings unfolding gracefully. The Gringotts wizards had arrived, and they shot spells at Harry and Bill, but the dragon let out a breath of blistering heat. With one final roar, it soared into the air, higher, higher, _higher, _breaking through the web of tracks above them. When the creature came to the tunnel, it forced its way through the small crevice, shooting mouthfuls of flame against the floors and ceiling of the tunnel. Bill shouted, "_Defodio!" _and Harry copied him. With their help, the tunnel was enlarged, and the dragon was able to squeeze her way through. Higher and higher they climbed, and Harry wondered if they'd ever make it out, or if they'd just be stuck in a hole in the wall forever—

And then at last, they blasted their way out of the passage, into the marble hallway. Goblins and wizards fled in every directions, some attempting to shoot spells at the creature, while other's sprinted as fast as they could away from it. The dragon burst through the wall of the building, its massive chest heaving as she sucked in fresh air, the first bit of fresh air she had breathed in Merlin knew how long, and then, with a massive roar, she unfolded her wings once more, and soared into the sky.

* * *

**A/N: And, there we are! Hope y'all enjoyed that! I had fun writing it! I really like exploring this side of Harry, who was raised in a sort of confined environment, because he's really quite a prude. He isn't nearly as reckless as his canon-self, and that's so much fun to write! I also had a lot of fun delving deeper into Bill's character. I really didn't think he got enough book time, which is a shame, because I get the vibe that he's a super deep guy with an ****unexposed bad-ass side! Mrs. Weasley's always talking about how great of an example Bill was, being Head Boy, and getting twelve O.W.L's and all that junk, and I think, while he was so busy trying to set a good example, he secretly just wanted to rebel _so bad_. **

**So, yeah, there's my spiel! **

**Review!**


	9. Snape's Solution

**A/N: Hey guys! There's been a large influx of reviewers, and I really appreciate that, so, as a reward, I'm updating early!:) **

**I just wanted to address a few guests, because the issue is being echoed in multiple reviews: a few folks have been saying that Harry is "too accepting" and doesn't put up "enough of a fight" and that the story is moving "too fast". Calm down, relax. You'll see. Just wait. Don't count your chickens before they hatch. I promise I'll attempt to keep Harry was canon as possible. Not everything is what is seems ;)**

**Without further adieu, Chapter 9!**

* * *

Harry and Bill landed in a toppled heap in the Weasleys' front yard. They untangled themselves, and clambered to their feet. Not moments after they landed was the door thrown open, and a short, plump woman rushed out, her arms wide. She took Bill's face between her hands, her round face very white.

"Bill Weasley!" She said shrilly. "That was _extremely dangerous_—we've already heard all about it, of course! How could you endanger yourself like that—"

"Mum, its _fine_," Bill insisted, brushing her hands away, smiling down at her, half-irritated, half-affectionate. "I'm _fine_. Besides, we had to." He jerked his head in Harry's direction, and the woman's eyes swiveled to him.

"Oh, Harry, dear!" She rushed over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He very much considered shaking the offending appendage off. "It's so good to meet you, darling. I'm Bill's mother. And the rest of the lot, I suppose. Come inside quickly, dear, and we'll get you fed up, you look terribly thin."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he allowed her to steer him inside. A part of him was very grateful for the guidance, because it seemed that his vision was growing worse and worse by the second. The house towering in front of them was nothing more than a giant blob. He could tell, however, the moment that she had opened the door, for an array of sounds came flooding out of the cramped, brightly lit space. The talking died down as she ushered Harry into the room, and he could feel a dozen eyes on him.

"Oh my—" Minerva whispered.

"You were right, Remus," Shacklebolt said in astonishment.

"Harry." It was the werewolf who approached him first. "It's—it's good to officially meet you."

The younger wizard tried to sneer up at him, but he couldn't find his face. "Yeah, well—_shite_, _what_ is wrong with my _eyes_?" At that moment, he stumbled over an end table that sat behind him and fell flat on his rump. He heard a few scattered laughs and resisted the urge to withdraw his wand and curse them all to smithereens. His face burned as he clambered to his feet.

"I think I've got something that might help." The werewolf's figure disappeared from in front of him, and he could hear him climbing up the stairs. He returned moments later, and shoved something over Harry's eyes. His vision cleared immediately.

"What the—"

"They belonged to your father." Remus was clear as day in front of him, now, the deep scars on his face illuminated by the firelight. "I see you must have inherited his terrible vision, along with his looks."

"Some glamours take longer to dissolve," Bill explained from Harry's right. "The glamour on your eyes must have been deeper-rooted and more powerful than the superficial glamours."

Harry caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror mounted on the wall, and he grimaced at his reflection. "I look like a bloody idiot."

"No different than usual, then," remarked Ronald dryly from the corner, and Harry glared at him.

"Ron!" Mr. Weasley chided.

"Never mind that now," Shacklebolt interjected. "We have more important things to discuss." The tall wizard leveled his gaze on Harry. "You have two options, Mr. Potter. We will allow you to return to the Lestranges—if you wish—as they raised you, and we do not make a habit of holding children hostage. However, know that some pertinent information that you might have attained in the last few hours—the locations of our safe-houses and the likes—must be taken from you."

Harry froze, his brow furrowing. "You—you're going to obliviate me?"

Shacklebolt confirmed with a nod of his head. "Yes. We cannot have you running back to tell them our secrets. That is the repercussion of returning to your allies."

The shaggy-haired boy hesitated, dropping his gaze to his feet, and he felt the round, wire-rim glasses slide down on his nose. "And—and what is the second option?"

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. "You may stay here under the safety of the Order."

Harry's head shot up. "What? _Why_? Why would you do that for me?"

"You are James and Lily's son." The werewolf cut in, he and Shacklebolt sharing a look. "They were some of my closest friends, and I will do whatever it take to protect you."

Harry was abominably confused. "I—I don't understand," he admitted, frustrated, sinking down into a rickety wooden chair. "I was raised with the Lestranges all of my life. I—we attacked the castle with the intent of hurting you. Of killing all of you."

Several whispers broke out at his words around the room, but he kept his eyes firmly on the werewolf. Remus stared right back at him, his gaze never wavering. "You're not a bad person, Harry." He informed him gently. "You're a very good person…who very bad things have happened to. We're not going to hurt you."

Harry scowled, looking away from him again. "I can't trust you—"

Before he could finish, though, there was a huge explosion outside, and some of the windows imploded. Several people screamed, and both Harry and Remus leapt to their feet on the offensive. "Here!" The werewolf shouted, tossing him something. "You'll be needed that!" Harry looked down at his wand. He felt a tingle run across the surface of his skin. It felt so good to have it back in his hands again.

He looked back up at Remus in disbelief, but the werewolf was moving away from him. As though he had sensed Harry's gaze, he turned and called, "I trust you'll make the right decision." Without another word, he sprinted away, engaging two Death Eaters in a ferocious duel.

Harry was dodging curses left and right, keeping his head bent towards the ground. He recognized several of the attackers, but he didn't see Aunt Bella or Uncle Rod among them—

_No_, he corrected himself. _Bellatrix and Rodolphus. They are _nothing _to you_.

A few feet ahead of him, the Weasley girl was dueling with Alecto Carrow. She was fighting hard, but the older witch had a look of bloodlust on her face. Battling with himself for a few moments, Harry raised his wand and blasted Alecto backwards. She collided with a wall, and was knocked unconscious.

Ginny whirled around, and her eyes met his with a flash. Clenching his jaw, he held a hand out to her. "C'mon," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"What are you doing?" she asked, staring at his hand with blatant suspicion.

"Do you want to die?" he spat harshly. "I'm the best duelist here, you'll be safe with me."

She hesitated, but then grasped his hand, and he pulled her through the living room, clogged with dueling figures, and the kitchen, where pots and pans had been strewn in every direction, blasting away figures clad in black left and right. He pulled her outside, skirting around the building, his heart beating a millions miles an hour. Once they came to the back of the building, he pulled her behind the barn, pushing her against the wall before she could blink.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, pushing his hands away.

"Stay here," he commanded. "They won't come back here. I'm going to—to go for a while, but—I'll try to contact you and Ron soon."

"Where are you going?" she asked, the suspicious expression returning to her face. "You're going back to them, aren't you?"

"No," he said quickly. "I—I have to leave. They can find me. They will always be able to find me. I'm—I'm endangering you lot, by staying here. The wards are already broken, I'm going to apparate away, but I need you to keep your mouth shut."

Her mouth, quite ironically, hung open in awe as she stared at him. "You're—you're _protecting _us?" she asked with obvious incredulity.

"There won't be anything left to protect if I don't get out of here soon," he grumbled in annoyance. "Look, as soon as I leave, Voldemort will be alerted, and he'll call them back." He turned to leave, but she grasped his arm, and he turned back, glaring at her.

"Why did you save _me_?"

He paused, his gaze wandering over her face, and he ran a hand through his hair, nearly cursing as he felt his face heat up. "I—I—just—keep your head down, alright?" Before she could protest, he swirled on the spot, and vanished into midair.

When Harry appeared again, a musty smell assaulted his nostrils. He stumbled across the rubbish-strewn banks of the river, hurrying towards the dilapidated brick houses which sat in rows along a narrow cobblestone street. He practically ran past each of the houses, his eyes skirting over their busted-down doors and boarded-up windows until he came to the very last house on the row. He didn't have much time. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

It was several moments before there was any response, and for a second Harry had a terrible thought that he wasn't there, but the door creaked open, just a crack, and a single coal-black eye peered out at him.

"I need your help," Harry said urgently.

It was another few moments, and then, "He will find you here."

"That is precisely why I need your help."

With a greatly-inconvenienced sigh, Severus Snape swung the door open wide and allowed him to enter. Harry shrugged off his cloak, and took the seat that Snape offered him, refraining from wrinkling his nose. He had never liked Snape—barely tolerated him, even—but he was the only one who could help him at this point.

Snape was staring at him with a strange expression, several feet away from him, a wine glass cradled in his hand. "How did you find out?" His voice was little more than a whisper.

Harry felt a surge of anger. How many of them had known? How many of them had lied to him, his entire life? "You were part of it too, then?" Snape raised his eyebrows, and Harry sighed, swallowing thickly. "Just a few hours ago. Remus suspected—he said he'd always suspected—and Bill took me to Gringotts, to the Thief's Downfall—he said it's the most powerful enchantment-remover he knew of—and then I—I realized they weren't lying."

Snape shook his head, sinking down into the armchair across from Harry. "I knew their secrets would come unraveled eventually—I only waited for the day you would discover it." He paused, his eyes settling on Harry's face, and a sneer curled around his lips. "Why should I help you?"

Harry swallowed again, looking down at the ground, his hands wringing in front of him. "Look, I—I know you don't like me. I can't pretend that I'm overly-fond of you. But Aunt Bel—Bellatrix suspected that you were a spy for Dumbledore. If that really is true—if you've been deceiving the Dark Lord for all of these years, you must have some idea of how to break the enchantments on the mark. That is how he's finding me, isn't it?"

Snape hesitated, his finger tracing the rim of his glass. "Yes. The enchantment placed on the Dark Mark resembled the same form as the trace that the Ministry uses for under-aged wizards—extremely powerful, extremely difficult to tamper with."

"But you can do it."

The older wizard met his eyes, and almost seemed to flinch. "To assist you with this would not only take an amount of time that we do not have, but it would be to commit treason against the Dark Lord. If he were to discover my betrayal—"

Harry rose to his feet, staring imploringly at the Potions master. "Sir, please. If Aunt Bel—if Bellatrix was right—if you really were a spy for Dumbledore—then you want to defeat the Dark Lord just as much as the rest of them do. And that—that prophesy that everyone's talking about, it says that I'm the one that's going to destroy him. If you really were a spy for Dumbledore, you'd help me destroy him, in whatever way you can."

Snape got to his feet as well, staring down at Harry coldly. "And are you prepared to do that, Mr. Potter?" Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat. "Are you prepared to kill the Dark Lord, when the time comes?"

He frowned. He didn't actually know if he could do it. His words had merely been a ploy to get Snape to help him remove the tracker—he didn't want Voldemort to be able to find him until he could be sure what he wanted. But to abandon everything he'd grown up with—everything he'd ever known—in a matter of hours, was a decision that he wasn't ready to make yet.

Snape sneered down at him, he eyes glinting coldly. "No, of course not. At the end of the day, Harry Potter is nothing more than a coward."

"I'm not a coward!" He snapped, clenching his fists. "I—when the time comes, I don't know what I'll do, okay, but I'll never get the chance to find out if Voldemort can trace my every step."

Snape leaned away from him, seeming to flinch again. "Very well. The removal of the tracker will require a Potion, as well as a spell performed by both of us. We must be very careful; if performed incorrectly, either of the spells could kill you."

Harry nodded unwaveringly. "Let's get to work."

* * *

The young wizard sat perched atop a table, leaning back on his arms as he watched Snape work. The wizard in question worked diligently, his hands moving with an impressive accuracy that Harry couldn't help but admire. His face, however, seemed to be arranged in a permanent expression of disdain, but he reckoned that it was due to his presence.

Neither of the spells had killed Harry, which had been a plus, but the Potion was a precautionary, and served as extra protection against detection.

After nearly an hour of achingly uncomfortable silence, Harry figured he should at least make an attempt at polite conversation. Snape was, after all, helping him. "How come the Death Eaters haven't found me yet? They found me almost instantaneously at the Weasleys'."

Snape lifted something that Harry couldn't see and dropped it into the potion. It landed with a faint plop. "The enchantments that I have cast on my home are like nothing any of the Order has ever before seen. They prevent detection, the effects of any tracking devices are nullified; it was a necessary action. I couldn't have the Dark Lord popping in while I was discussing things with Dumbledore."

Harry nodded, picking at the hem of his sweater. "The werewolf said he knew my parents."

Snape did not look up, but the sneer on his lips grew more pronounced. "Yes, he was a part of their little entourage at school."

Harry's brows shot up past his hairline. "_You _went to school with my parents?"

Snape spared him a scathing glance. "Did you think me too old?"

Harry did not bother to admit aloud that he did. "What were they like, my parents?"

To his immense surprise, Snape's mouth curled into what might have been a smile on someone else, but on him, it was more of a smirk. "Your father was lazy, arrogant, and self-entitled. He strutted around as though he were Merlin's gift to the world."

Harry frowned. That didn't strike him as the sort of person that Remus would be friends with. But he brushed that off, pressing, "And my mum?"

Snape's reaction almost would have been comical if it weren't so bizarre. He had been cutting the root of asphodel, and at Harry's words, his fingers slipped, and he sliced open his hand. The wizard cursed, immediately swishing his wand to stem the bleeding. He whirled on Harry, his black robes swishing and his face alit with fury. "Hold your tongue, you _stupid _boy." With another growl, he turned back to his potion, working more rapidly now, as though he were eager to leave the room.

Harry, astonished, slid off of his perch on the table, leaning against the edge of it instead. "I'm—er—sorry. I—I just figured that if you knew my dad, you probably knew my mum as well."

Snape let out an agitated scoff, his posture rigid. "_Yes_, Potter, I knew your mother."

Harry misread his tone. "Was she—er—like my dad?"

Snape let out a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. "No…no she was _nothing _like your blasted father." He made no move to explain further, and Harry stared at his back, frowning, curiosity burning in the pit of his stomach, but before he could voice any of his question, Snape turned to him, pouring the last of the potion into a goblet and pushing it into Harry's hands.

"Drink up." His smirk was devilish, and within seconds, Harry found out why. The potion was the foulest thing Harry had ever tasted, and it slid down his throat like sludge. He coughed, scrunching up his nose until he had downed all of it, wiping the corner of his mouth and letting out a groan. His face had a green tint to it.

"That was _disgusting_." He muttered, looking up at Snape.

After a moment of staring, the older wizard let out another exasperated noise, moving around Harry and pulling the door open. "That is _all, _Potter."

Harry blinked at him. "That's—that's it? It just—it just _worked_?" He glanced down at the mark on his left arm, and was surprised to see that the snake on the mark was no longer writhing, but sat quite still on his arm, much like a Muggle tattoo.

He hesitated, looking back up at Snape with a pained expression, practically forcing the words out. "Thank you," he said finally, attempting a smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. "You—well, I really appreciate your help." Snape rolled his eyes, rattling the door a little, and Harry hurried out, but stopped again in the sitting room, looking back at the wizard, who looked immensely annoyed now.

"Er—what do I do now?"

Snape arched a brow. "Well, I suppose that is entirely up to you, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, following Snape to the entry way and slipping past him through the door, into the chilly outside air. He stopped on the top step again, though, turning back to the man who stood in the doorway. "Should I confront the Lestranges? Or go back to the Weasleys? I don't know who to trust."

Snape looked at him, his face blank. "Do I look like your therapist, Potter? Now _go away_." Without another word, he slammed the door, and Harry trotted down the steps, rolling his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.


	10. A Close Call

The Burrow was in chaos. Mrs. Weasley was bustling about, distributing healing potions and salves, with Hermione and Ginny's help. Luckily, no one had been killed, but the few injuries that had been sustained were not easy fixes.

Hermione knelt over Charlie Weasley, dabbing at the large burn on his shoulder. The stench was vile. "There you are," she said once she was finished. "That should heal up within two to three days, although a scar might be inevitable."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Well, since I'm so terribly concerned about having burn scars…" he subtly lifted his arms, which were covered in shiny, pink burns, and Hermione let out a breathy laugh, running a hand through her hair as she looked around the Burrow anxiously. "Granger, it's going to be fine." She drew her eyes back to Charlie, who was giving her a reassuring smile as he clambered to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder. "Everyone's going to be fine."

Ron appeared at his brother's side, his freckled face pink and several scratches decorating his cheeks and forehead. "Where's Lestr—Potter?"

Hermione looked around, peering over heads, but could not find the shaggy-haired boy anywhere. "I dunno," she answered finally, pursing her lips. "Must've left."

"Ruddy great time to abandon us," Ron grumbled in annoyance.

"He didn't abandon us," Ginny interjected quickly, from where she sat patching up Shacklebolt's arm. "He saved us."

Ron raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "Right."

"He did!" Ginny seemed to have finished whatever she was doing, become she strode over to them, her expression alit with anger. "He realized that Voldemort can track him wherever he goes, so he left. He didn't want to endanger anyone else here."

Ron didn't look convinced, and Hermione was biting her lip uncertainly. "That doesn't sound like something a Lestrange would do, Gin. How do you even know that he cares about us?"

"That's because he's _not _a Lestrange, _Ronald_!" Ginny hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. "And I know because he saved my life." Without another word, she whirled around and strode angrily out of the room, past Remus, who was staring at the three of them with an indecipherable expression.

"Do you have any idea where he would have gone, Remus?" Hermione asked finally.

The werewolf's gaze was not directed at anything in particular, but his focus was intent. His hands were folded in front of him pensively, and his brows were furrowed above his sharp eyes. "I have a hunch." Remus said finally. "But—let me go, alone." Before they could protest, he bustled to his feet, grabbed his cloak, and hurried out the door. As soon as he made it past the property line of the Burrow, he disapparated.

When he appeared again, he was standing on a familiar street, cottages lining either side of the road. Without waiting to take in the scenery, he hurried down the street. Finally, he came to the church, and slipped through the kissing gate. Almost reverently, he stopped in the entrance of the graveyard, and looked around, his breath growing shallow.

_Sixteen years_.

Remus swallowed, and started forward again. Quite suddenly, he saw him: knelt in front of a headstone towards the back of the graveyard, made of white marble, where he knew lie Lily and James Potter. His steps slowed as he approached the boy, and it wasn't until he stopped directly behind him that he glanced over his shoulder.

"You said that they were—they were murdered in Godric's Hollow. I just thought—I had to come see—" Remus was surprised to hear that Harry's voice was thick with emotion, though he could not see his face fully. He cleared his throat, kneeling down next to the younger wizard.

"Of course, Harry," he said gently, hesitating, before electing to put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't brush it away, but instead continued staring glumly down at the headstone, his cheeks pink, rather from the cold, or something else, Remus wasn't sure. "Why did you come here, Harry?"

"I wasn't sure where to go," he admitted. "I'm still not sure who to trust, and I thought maybe if I came back to the place it all started, I could get some answers." He looked up, his eyes bright, and Remus briefly contemplated whether or not he'd been crying. "I shouldn't trust you," he continued. "I feel—I feel as though this is all one very bad, very elaborate trap, and you're going to—I dunno—use me as ransom for my Aunt—for the Lestranges, but…I do trust you, despite your unfortunate breeding. More than anyone else. More than I should," he added bitterly, looking back down at the ground.

Remus felt a little pang of hurt at the comment Harry had made about his 'breeding', but reasoned with himself that it was just the way that he had been raised. No son of Lily or James Potter would ever be prejudice against anyone or anything. "Your parents loved you so much, Harry," he said finally, feeling like it needed to be said. "They loved you more than life itself. If—if it makes any difference to you, and—and you really do care for them the way you seem to, it—it would do them a great honor, to stand up for a cause they believed in."

Harry sighed, sinking down to the ground, his legs bent in front of him, and Remus followed his example. "My entire life—" he began, but then cleared his throat. "My entire life, I was raised to believe that Muggleborns and half-bloods and blood traitors and half-breeds—_all _of them—are inferior to me. It's not—I can't help it. When someone says Muggleborn, Mudblood is the first thing to cross my mind, when someone says werewolf, I think half-breed." Harry almost looked apologetic as he looked up at him. "I don't—I don't _mean _to—"

"Harry," Remus interrupted, holding up hand. "Those beliefs were ingrained into your brain just as thoroughly as our beliefs of the opposite were ingrained into ours. In time, I believe your prejudice will diminish, especially if you get to know these half-breeds and Muggleborns. Miss Granger, for example, is a very lovely girl." Harry frowned, looking away from him, and Remus hesitated, before pushing on boldly, "And—if it helps you at all, you're not exactly a Pureblood…either."

The young wizard's head shot up, and his eyes widened almost comically. "You're lying!" He practically spat, and Remus resisted the strange urge to laugh.

"You're not a Muggleborn," Remus said quickly, his lips twitching. "But, Lily Evans _was_. You're a half-blood." Harry's legs, which had been coiled, as though he were preparing to spring to his feet, relaxed, and he sunk back down to the ground, his expression a torrent of mixed emotions.

"That's—well—I—totally disgusting, of course, but under the circumstances—not as bad, I suppose, but still—Master would be disgusted, Aunt Bella and Uncle Rod—well, they hate all things other than—"

"They—they know you're a half-blood, Harry," Remus cut into the boy's rambling.

Harry's brows shot upward in surprise. "Why—why did they tolerate me, then?"

Remus paused, frowning a bit as his gaze wandered to the white marble headstone introspectively. "I'm—I'm not really sure. Now that we have ascertained that it _was _you that Lord Voldemort took, we aren't entirely certain as to _why_."

Harry said nothing, but instead ran a finger over his parents' names. "They were good people," he said after a moment. "I know they were." He looked back up at Remus. "If—if I were to fight with you, you would not let me use Dark Magic?"

He fought to keep the surprise off of his face. "Er—no. We try to stay away from Dark Magic as much as possible. It's not something that one should regularly practice."

Harry's lips quirked into a very eerie smirk. "That's not what my Mast—what Voldemort says. He says that it is an extraordinary power that can be harbored for multiple purposes, to achieve greatness." His eyes met Remus's unyieldingly. "I'm inclined to agree with him."

Remus frowned, a little shiver of dread running down his spine. "Perhaps, when the time comes, you may see just how dangerous it can be."

"Perhaps," Harry allowed, inclining his head almost regally, and Remus once again had to force the surprise from his face. This situation was growing stranger and stranger by the minute. "I shall not make my decision immediately. I need some time to…think."

"Of course," Remus said, though hesitatingly. "Just—just be _careful, _Harry. I'm not sure what they'll do to you now, and we can't protect you if we don't know where you are or what you are doing."

Harry nodded. "I shall return to the Weasleys' by dawn." He got to his feet, and Remus did, too. He hesitated, and then held a hand out to the werewolf, attempting a friendly smile, but it came off as more of a scowl. "I—thank you, Remus. You're—you're a good friend."

Remus, amazed, took Harry's hand, smiling warmly at him. "It's—it's good to have you back, Harry." The werewolf clapped him on the shoulder, and strode out of the graveyard, past the kissing gate, and down the street. A faint _pop_ indicated that he had disapparated. He did not turn back to look at Harry as he left, not even once, for if he had, he would've seen the cryptic smirk curling around the younger boy's lips.

* * *

Draco Malfoy wandered down the busy streets of London, bumping into Muggles indifferently as he passed. He kept the hood of his cloak up, and his head down as he weaved between figures, finally coming to the building he was looking for. With a covert glance around himself, he slipped inside.

The air of the Leaky Cauldron was warm, and filled with a rich aroma of butterbeer and desserts. A quick scan of the room helped him find who he was looking for; sitting in the corner, a medium-sized figure with his hood drawn over his head, his fingers tapping impatiently on his glass. Smirking, Draco made his way towards the figure, casting another furtive glance around the pub, and slipped into the seat across from him.

Harry looked up, grinning. "I wasn't certain you'd come." He said, relief evident in his voice.

The blonde wizard rolled his eyes. "Always one to help a friend in need. Especially one as desperate and pathetic as you." He peered closer at Harry, trying to get a better glimpse at him from beneath his hood. "Say, Lestrange, you look different."

Harry tossed a cautious glance around the pub, and then drew his hood from his face. Draco gasped, but the dark-haired wizard help up a hand before the other boy could flee. "Wait! Draco, it _is _me."

Draco examined him again, more closely this time. "Wh—what did they do to you?"

Harry frowned, shaking his head as his gaze settled on a pair of men sitting a few tables away. One was rather burly, while the other was tall and weedy. "They didn't do anything," he said finally. "This is how I actually look."

Comprehension dawned on Draco's face. "Found out, have you?"

Harry's gaze whirled back to Draco; oh, if he had been angry before, it was _nothing _compared to now. "_You _knew? They told _you _and you never told me?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Calm down! They didn't tell me _anything_. I overheard them, on numerous occasions, saying things that sounded a bit suspicious. Besides, the story was always woolly; Uncle Rodolphus doesn't _have _another brother. "

"That's why Remus looked so confused," Harry muttered. "But then, why didn't you say anything?"

Draco snorted. "Sorry, mate, you might be my friend, but there's no way I'm risking my neck for you."

Harry felt a twinge of…_something_…at Draco's words. He got the feeling that the Weasleys' and the Mudblood and Remus were risking their necks for each other all the time. But he cast that thought away immediately.

Draco leaned across the table, scrutinizing his face. "So…who exactly _are _you?"

Harry clenched and unclenched his jaw. He could trust Draco, but he wasn't sure how far he could trust him. "Harry Potter," he said finally.

Draco's eyes went wide, and his face lit up with awe. "I _knew _it!" He explained, while Harry tried to quiet him down. "I _knew _there was something fishy about that tale! You're—you're basically an enemy, aren't you?"

"That was the idea, yes," Harry grumbled, looking annoyed. "But it doesn't matter."

The older wizard arched a blonde brow at him. "What are you intending to do?"

He hesitated, tapping his fingers against his now-empty glass reflectively. "I'm not sure," he admitted finally. "I've got the werewolf wrapped around my finger," he added, and Draco smirked. "He trusts me to the ends of the earth. And I think I've convinced them all that I'm just a confused little boy who doesn't know what he's got caught up in—"

"Gullible lot," Draco snorted.

"—But," Harry continued, glancing a Draco uneasily. "There is…a favor…I need to ask of you."

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms of his chest, his legs sprawled out beneath the table. "I knew you couldn't have asked me to meet you here just to chat. Harry, Harry, Harry." Harry refrained from hexing the wizard, and patiently waited for him to get off of his power trip. "When will I ever stop having to take care of _little, baby Harry_?"

"I need to get into Malfoy Manor," Harry said quickly, his voice very low. Almost everyone in the pub seemed to be engaged in their own conversations, but a witch with a very tall hat, and the two men who had been bantering were sitting a little too close for Harry's comfort.

Whatever Draco had expected, it hadn't been that. "You _what_?"

"I need to get into Malfoy Manor," Harry repeated patiently. "I need answers and that's the only place I'm going to get them."

Draco tugged on his collar anxiously. "I dunno, Harry, that's awfully dangerous."

"Please," Harry begged, staring imploringly at the wizard. "I can just floo straight to your bedroom—I've got an invisibility cloak—and they won't even know that I'm there, let alone that you helped me get in."

Draco's brow quirked. "Where'd you get an invisibility cloak?"

"Never mind that," Harry brushed off, "Will you, or won't you?"

His friend frowned, tilting his head backwards as though he were addressing the Gods for advice. Finally, he looked back at Harry, his face twisted into a scowl. "Fine," he said. "_Fine_, but if you get caught, Merlin help you, you're on your own."

"Thank you," Harry said gratefully, reaching across the table and setting his hand on Draco's shoulder. "You've always looked out for me."

Draco smirked, standing up and stretching as he released a wide yawn. "Yes, well, I am a kind man. I always look after the less capable."

Harry rolled his eyes, clambering to his feet as well, and following Draco out the back of the Leaky Cauldron, to the entrance of Diagon Alley. "We'll floo from Knockturn Alley," Draco explained as he tapped the bricks in sequence. "Less crowded there, less people to notice us." Harry wouldn't admit it, but he was actually impressed; it wasn't often that Draco had an intelligent idea.

The two of them weaved between witches and wizards, their hoods drawn over their heads, and they were on the receiving end of several strange looks, but they continued resolutely on their path towards the dingier end of the Alley. They finally came to the narrow backstreet adorned with a rickety old sign reading _Knockturn Alley_, and the two of them slipped down the street, Harry casting a suspicious glance behind them every few moments.

They rounded a corner, and Draco suddenly shoved him backwards, into a wall, his breathing very sharp. "What is it?" Harry demanded, attempting to peer around Draco, but the blonde had him pinned firmly so he could not move. "What is it?"

"It's my father," Draco breathed. "Put the cloak on, _hurry_." Harry shakily withdrew the cloak from the folds of his robes, and pulled it over his head, his fingers, his legs, his whole body trembling. Draco gestured for him to follow, and the blonde led him past numerous questionable shops, towards Borgin and Burkes, which Harry had been inside a multitude of times. Lucius Malfoy was indeed standing outside the shop, but he was not alone; Borgin was nasally describing something to him, his figure hunched over in a bow, and a tall, broad-shouldered man, with dark hair and dark eyes, whom Harry had never seen before, was leaning against the wall, twirling his wand idly between his fingers as he surveyed the two men.

Draco approached them slowly, his face schooled into its regular expression of arrogance and ease. "Father," he greeted casually, stopping in front of the two men, and Harry stopped directly behind him, barely a breadth of space between them.

"Draco," Lucius turned his cold gaze upon his son, sounding vaguely surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted a bit of fresh air," he told him smoothly. "Thought I'd floo back home through Borgin's."

"Of course," Lucius acquiesced, and he and Borgin stepped out of the way of the doorway, the latter sinking even lower in an slick bow. The two of them were almost completely through the door, when Lucius called out, "Draco?"

The blonde turned, and Harry saw him swallow thickly. Harry was frozen on the spot, a foot away from Draco, another two from Lucius; if the older wizard were to step forward, he would run into Harry. "You haven't seen Harry anywhere, have you?"

Harry nearly cursed aloud. Draco was an abysmal liar, when asked straightforwardly; his face blanched, and his lips struggled for several moments, to form words, before he swallowed thickly again, and forced out, in a rather higher voice than his own, "No, father, of course not."

Was it just his imagination, or was the dark-haired wizard leaning against the wall staring _straight _at Harry?

If Lucius noticed that anything was amiss, he didn't give any, indication. "Good," he drawled, "You are to inform us immediately if you do, of course."

"Of course," Draco echoed faintly, turning away from his father, making to go into the store.

"Oh, and Draco?" Harry's breath actually caught in his throat; he had been centimeters away from tripping over the cloak, and having it ripped off of him. The dark-haired man arched a single eyebrow, and Harry had a horrible feeling that he could see him. There was something strangely familiar about the man; not his face, Harry would've remembered it, but something in his mannerisms…

"Take these to your mother," He moved towards Draco, and Harry had the common sense to duck, just as Lucius's hands came up where his torso had just been. The older wizard handed his son several wrapped packages, before stepping back again, and Harry rose to his feet, letting out a sigh of relief. "I was going to bring them to her myself, but I will be returning later than anticipated."

"Yes, father," Draco complied, and all but sprinted into the shop, Harry following behind him quickly. The door snapped shut behind them, and they hastily made their way to the back of the shop. "That was _so _close," Draco breathed, gathering a fistful of floo powder in his hand. With the packages tucked under his arm, he called, "Malfoy Manor!" and promptly disappeared in a whirl of fire and smoke.

Harry stepped into the grate as soon as Draco had vanished, slipping a hand out from beneath the cloak and grabbing a handful of floo powder. He wasn't sure if you were supposed to floo with an invisibility cloak on, but he couldn't take the risk; not with Borgin and Lucius standing just outside the shop, not with the dark-haired man peering suspiciously into the window. He dropped the floo powder at his feet, and called, as loud as he dared, "Malfoy Manor!"

As the smoke and emerald-green flames gathered around him, he could have sworn that the shop door opened and that the dark-haired man came hurtling around the corner, his face twisted with rage, but before Harry could blink, he, too, had vanished into the fire.

* * *

**There we are, guys! Hope you enjoyed, and please keep up the lovely reviews! They're very much appreciated!**


	11. The Secret Room

**A/N: Hey babies! I have some icky news, accompanied by some (I guess) good news! I started college! Freshman of '18, y'all! Unfortunately, this means that, for a little while anyway, I probably won't be able to update as often, if at all. I just need to get adjusted to this new lifestyles, and this sudden spurge of independence (yikes). I apologize once again, but I hope y'all understand. Just to clarify, this story is NOT abandoned, I just don't want to promise frequent updates. **

**Anyway, enjoy this next chapter! **

**Disclaimer: The spells used in this chapter are from the BBC series "The Adventures of Merlin" and do not belong to me. **

* * *

Malfoy Manor looked just the same as when he had left; the regal architecture, the high ceilings and grand staircases, and yet, it retained the same cold, empty aura. It had never been a 'homey' abode, and Harry couldn't help but subconsciously compare it to the Weasleys'. The moment he stumbled out of the fireplace, he hastily tugged the invisibility cloak around him tighter, half-afraid that someone was waiting for them in Draco's room.

Draco wasted no time informing him that whatever he was doing there, he wanted no part of it. He wished him good luck, and then promptly disappeared down the hallway. Harry stared after the blonde for a moment, and then turned in the opposite direction. He didn't know precisely_ what_ he was looking for, but he had some clue as to where to start.

He came to Lucius's office, and tried the door, but, unsurprisingly, it was locked. He closed his eyes, letting his senses take over, and probed at the force field surrounding the door. He recognized the wards protecting the room; his Master had taught him how to conjure this type of ward, as well as how to break through it. He hadn't realized, apparently, that this parting of knowledge would come back to haunt him.

The interior of the office was fairly unpromising; a mahogany desk sat beneath a window, cluttered with papers, and several dozen bookcases were pressed against the wall, filled with numerous volumes of every size.

After nearly a half an hour of searching, Harry was forced to acknowledge that there was nothing in the room that would help him, though he had stumbled upon some questionable documents:

'_Malfoy Heir Nearly Dies At Birth—The Truth About the Hereditary Malfoy Sickness'_

As well as numerous lengthy medical records. Harry hadn't been aware, in all of his years there, that any of the Malfoy's had _ever _gotten sick, not even the common cold. Draco had always bragged that the purity of their bloodline kept their immune systems immaculate. More out of curiosity than actual requisite, he tucked the article into his robes.

He peeked through the doorway, and, after making sure that no one was coming, emerged from the room and quickly re-did the wards. He continued down the hallway, listening warily for any sound of footsteps or voices, but the manor was eerily silent. He searched room after room, but was continually disappointed; quite a few of the rooms were completely empty, devoid of any contents whatsoever.

At the end of the hall was a staircase, and Harry followed it up. He realized, with a jolt, that he had arrived in the hallway where his old room had been. He hesitated, his heart racing, and then crossed the hall in two strides and paused in front of the door, before pushing it open.

Everything was just as he'd left it; his bed unmade, pajamas strewn across the floor, drawers and cabinets open haphazardly. He sunk down onto the mattress in a sort of daze, running his fingers over the fabric of the quilt contemplatively. It was unnerving, actually; his room was a little _too _untouched. It looked as though the house elves hadn't even been up there…

He pulled the cloak off, casting it onto the bed and crossing the room to stand in front of the mirror that sat across from his bed. It had been mere days—or had at been weeks?—since he had looked into this very same mirror, and seen a completely different person—_been _a completely different person. Had he changed as much as he felt he had? He felt ten years older.

There was a loud, clattering noise, and he whipped out his wand, immediately on-guard. Pressing himself against the wall, he peered through the crevice in the door. There didn't appear to be anyone in the hallway. Moving nearly silently, he slipped through the door, glancing down the hall in either direction. There was no one in sight. He moved in the direction from which the noise had come. Perhaps it had been his imagination? He was probably just being paranoid—

_Boom_.

Harry jumped, and then steadied himself, his body automatically tensing into dueling stance as he crept towards the noise; he didn't want to run into Rodolphus or Bellatrix, but if he encountered one of the stupider Death Eaters, maybe they could—

_Boom boom boom boom boom._

The noise seemed to echo, and Harry realized it was emanating from the room just up ahead, on his left. The door was shut, but as he drew level with the room, he realized that there were no wards. It wasn't even locked.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he threw the door open, pointing his wand in front of him, and hurtled into the room, only to find—

_Nothing_.

The room was completely empty, not a soul in sight, save for a tall, antique-looking cabinet, which seemed to be trembling, and emitting all sorts of strange noises. Harry surveyed it cagily. What could be in there? It didn't sound particularly friendly.

Perhaps if he got close enough, he could crack it open, just enough to get a glimpse…

With resolve, he slunk towards the huge cabinet, footsteps slow and breathing shallow. All it would take would be one good hex…

He carefully undid the latch, and opened one of the doors ever so slowly, attempting to peer into its dark recesses—

Harry was suddenly throw backwards as something burst from the cabinet, knocking both of the doors wide open. He skidded across the floor and slammed against the wall, and the air was momentarily knocked out of his lungs. He finally regained it, but when he looked back up, it promptly flooded out again, like water from the mouth of the Nile.

A medium-sized figure stood in front of him; his skin was pale, and his limbs were lean. He had a mop of curly dark hair atop his head, and dark brown eyes. He met Harry's eyes, and gave him a devilish smirk. Harry attempted to scramble away from the figure, but found himself backed up against the wall. The boy came closer, his strides easy, comfortable, as though Harry wasn't on the verge of dry-heaving in front of him. He knelt down, a few feet away from him, and tapped his wand against his knee.

"You cannot escape it," he whispered, his voice strange, almost hollow. "You cannot run from it."

"Stop it," Harry pleaded, scrunching his eyes shut, cupping his hands over his ears, anything to stop him, anything to keep from listening—

"You will never escape this." His voice seemed to resonate in Harry's mind, banging against the walls of his head. "It is your fate, and fate changes for no man—"

"_Stop it!_" Harry screamed, but at that moment, the door swung open, and someone entered. Harry's eyes were still squeezed shut, but he felt their hand encircle his collar, felt them drag him across the floor, through the door, and deposit him into the hall. He could feel the figure following, feel its presence hovering close, but then his rescuer slammed the door, locking it for good measure, and the asphyxiating presence vanished.

"Are you _mad?" _Draco seethed, hauling him to his feet by his collar. Harry blinked open his eyes, staring numbly at the older wizard. "Have you _any _idea how loud you were being? Luckily, mum's outside, but my father's going to be home in _two minutes_, and have you any idea what would have happened if it been _he _who found you?"

Draco took a deep breath, seemingly done rebuking him—for the moment anyway—before glancing over his wayward appearance. "I'm surprised, " he said finally, his voice much more restrained. "With all that fancy dueling you can do, I'd think you'd be able to handle a boggart. I thought you were looking for answers, anyway?"

Harry blinked, his face flushing with embarrassment. Of _course _it was just a boggart; he'd read about them dozens of times. He now felt terribly ashamed; Master had practiced with him, time and time again, not to let his fears over-take him, and that's exactly what he had done. Draco was right: if anyone else had found him, he would've been in enormous trouble. "I—I panicked," he explained, nearly cursing as he felt his face heat up even more. "And I was—I am—I just got a bit side-tracked."

Draco rolled his eyes in irritation. "Well don't let it happen again," he grumbled. "You've got about an hour before you need to get out of here; the Dark Lord's having a meeting then, and the place'll be swarming."

Harry nodded, turning to make his way up the next set of stairs, but then he turned back to Draco, giving the blonde an awkward smile. "Er…thanks. For—you know."

Draco said nothing, but gave him a curt nod, turning back towards the direction from which he came. "One hour, mate!" He called over his shoulder.

"One hour," Harry breathed, nodding, and hurriedly made his way up the staircase. He was on the highest level of Malfoy Manor. As he passed one of the windows, he could see far out over the orchard, past the property line, to the rolling greens of the country side. He had only been up here once, but he remembered the incident so clearly that a map of this floor was practically engraved into his mind.

He came to the door at the very end of the hall, and immediately cursed. He had never felt wards so strong. The last time he had been here, they hadn't been present. He was positive, because the last time he had been here, he had been twelve, and would have been incapable of undoing basic wards, let alone wards of this nature.

Steeling himself, he pointed his wand at the door, "_Aliese._"

The door didn't budge. He hadn't really expected it to, with such a weak spell, but he figured it was worth a shot. "_Tospringe_."

Nothing.

Exhaling in frustration, he cracked his knuckles, glaring at the door as though the force of his gaze could bring it down. Re-positioning himself, he squared his shoulders, and said compellingly, "_Abricaþ benda!"_

He stared, disbelievingly, at the door, which remained firmly shut. He half-considered blasting it off its hinges, but decided against the idea. Besides, the _wards _probably wouldn't permit it. "_Onluc scrin," _he murmured.

"_Oncluce þe!"_

"_Unspanne þás mægþ!"_

Harry swiped at his brow, which was now perspiring heavily, and paced back and forth in front of the door. His curiosity was now burning; surely, if this room was guarded this strongly, there must be something of incredible significance within it. He just might never get to see it.

_No_, he reminded himself. _You don't have a choice_.

He stopped in front of the door again, raising his wand, and closing his eyes. He used all of his senses again to probe the magic in the air; he could feel it reacting with his own magic, twisting and turning in tendrils of power. He raised his left hand, leaving his wand dangling at his side, and breathed, _"Isen fæstnunga onlucan me._"

It was not until he heard a faint _click _that he opened his eyes. The door hung open, and he felt a surge of excitement. Had he _really _just undone those wards? And wandlessly? His Master would be so impressed—

Harry frowned at the ground, pushing the door open and stepping inside, attempting to steer his train of thoughts from where they had been headed.

For such difficult wards, the inside of the room was hardly impressive, but Harry didn't let that deter him. He first made his way to the wooden chest, which he had seen once before, and knelt in front of it. There was even more useless junk overflowing from the trunk then there had been five years ago, and Harry felt a surge of frustration as he eyed item after item before tossing them aside, unimpressed: a shrunken broomstick, several antique goblets, a battered copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_, a stuffed snowy owl—

He frowned as he picked up the little black book, on the back of which the words _Tom Marvolo Riddle _were engraved. He flipped through the blank pages once more, glancing over his shoulder every few moments, as though his Master would burst in at any moment and curse him to smithereens. He really didn't see what all the fuss was about; it was just a stupid, empty diary. He had never even _heard _the name Riddle before; it probably belonged to some stupid Mudblood, though _what _it was doing locked away in Malfoy Manor, Harry didn't have the faintest idea—

_Wait_.

_All _of these things had to have some value, even if they _seemed _useless to Harry; if there was one thing he knew about his Master, it was that he didn't do things without a reason. If all of this stuff was locked up here, it was because they didn't want anyone to find it.

Should he…_take _it?

He wasn't really sure what to do with all of it, but maybe he could figure out later if any of it related to him. Making up his mind, he began to haphazardly shove things into the folds of his robes. When he ran out of room there, he withdrew a sack from the bottom of the trunk—useful—and cast an undetectable extension charm on it, before stuffing things into it, as well.

Once he was sure he'd recovered everything, he turned and made his way towards the door, crossing the room hastily—

And promptly froze.

His brows furrowing, he took two steps backwards, and then forward again. Yes, there it was again.

_Creeeeaaaaak._

He frowned. This was one of the only rooms in the entire manor which had wooden floors. Was he simply being paranoid, or was there something else?

He stepped backwards.

_Creeeeaaaak. _

No, floors definitely did not make sounds like that.

Grinning madly, he dropped to his knees, yanking at the loose floorboard, scraping his fingers against the splinters that protruded from the wood, but he hardly cared. By the time he had finally pried the board completely up, his hands were bleeding, but—

_Yes_.

Heaps upon heaps of documents, newspaper articles, medical records, folders and—_was that a birth certificate_?

Harry heaved the stacks out of the hole in the floor one by one, setting them down in a make-shift circle. How could this much material _possibly _pertain to _one person_?

_Harry James Potter_

_Male_

_Thirty-First July 1980_

_Lily Potter _

_James Potter_

_St. Mungo's Hospital_

_London_

He felt a strange spasm against his rib cage; if his appearance hadn't been enough, here was the legal evidence, right in front of him. It was a strange, strange thought: that there were two people in the world who loved him, loved him more than life itself, and he hadn't even known of their existence.

He set the certificate gingerly aside, and picked up one of the articles, smoothing it out. The headline read:

'_Potters' Found Dead, Infant Son Vanished'_

He realized, with a jolt, that this must be from the night that his parents had died. The night that his Master had taken him from his home and forged a new life for him. He scanned the article briefly, but it basically was announcing when and where the Potters' funeral service would be held, as well as speculations about baby Harry's disappearance. One of the odder theories had been that Harry had been kidnapped by a man named Sirius Black and was being raised on some remote desert island to be a mass-murderer (this rumor was proposed by some woman named Rita Skeeter). The name Sirius Black resonated with Harry, but he couldn't recall where he'd heard it before.

He was about to pick up the next article, when he heard a noise that made him still: there were footsteps on the staircase. Footsteps way too heavy to belong to Draco.

With his heart in his throat, Harry leapt to his feet, shrinking the multitudes of documents and thrusting them indiscriminately into the satchel. They would be impossible to reorganize, but he could worry about that later. He patted the pockets of his robes, his hands flitting around the many new items he had acquired, but then he froze, and his heart actually did stop.

He had left the invisibility cloak in his old room.

Cursing, he cast a swift disillusionment charm on himself, and slipped out of the door. If it was one of the stupider Death Eaters, he might be able to slip by undetected, but if it was Bellatrix, or even Lucius, or, Merlin forbid, his _Master_, he was as good as dead.

The figures were too far down the hall to make out, but Harry could hear their voices drifting down the empty passageway. The space between them was growing smaller and smaller. As they drew nearer, he recognized Alecto Carrow, who Harry had cursed at the Weasleys' house, as well as her brother Amycus. His breathing grew sharper the closer they got, and he could practically count the whiskers on Alecto's chin when a blonde figure appeared at the end of the hallway, jogging towards the two of them. Surprise momentarily overtook Harry's fear. He had never, in sixteen years, seen Draco Malfoy engage in anything faster than an arrogant strut, let alone a _jog_.

"Oi, what are you two doing up here?" he called arrogantly, his face adopting a rather condescending sneer as he appraised the two of them.

Amycus scowled. "Watch your tone, boy. Just because this is your father's house doesn't mean you can disrespect us. We are your superiors, after all."

Draco snorted. "That's debatable. Speaking of my father, he's requested that you check those two rooms there. There's some valuables that he doesn't want to lose, and he says if the intruder's gotten anywhere near them, it'll be on your heads."

Alecto and Amycus shared a look, before the latter gave a very inconvenienced sigh and slammed the door of the first room open with a little more force than necessary. Alecto disappeared into the second room, and Harry felt a trace of fear trickle down his back. What was Draco _doing_? He had pointed to the two rooms closest to Harry—

As soon as Alecto had disappeared, however, Draco had flicked his wand, and both of the doors had promptly swung shut, locking themselves with a _click. _The blonde wasted no time, and hissed out, "_Where are you_, you bleeding moron?"

Harry removed the disillusionment and hurried towards Draco, who thrust something into his hand. He realized, seconds later, that it was the invisibility cloak. "You're the biggest idiot I've ever met, you know that?" Draco muttered. "Left that on your bed. My father was in there, searching your room—they know, by the way, that's there's an intruder—and I scooped it up right before he saw it."

Harry didn't know what to say. "Thank you," he whispered finally. "I—you've saved me twice in one day—"

"Let's not make it a third, yeah?" Draco said curtly, his pale cheeks turning slightly pink, despite his tone. "Just get out of here."

He threw the cloak on over his head, hitching the satchel higher onto his shoulder. "I'll contact you soon," his disembodied voice told Draco.

"Don't," he replied, shaking his head. "Not for a while, anyway. I'm going to try to convince them that the intruder attacked me, and locked those two in the rooms, but—" he glanced at the two rooms, where Alecto and Amycus were banging their fists against the doors. Whether they were too stupid to remember that they had wands, or too stupid to undo Draco's locking charm, Harry wasn't sure, but he didn't plan on sticking around to find out. "—But it's going to be tight around here for a while," he finished grimly.

Harry nodded, but then remembered that he couldn't see him. He hesitated, and then said quietly, "Why are you doing this?" He knew that Draco would know what he meant. They had always stuck together as children, mostly because it had only ever been the two of them, but their personalities often clashed. Draco had unquestioningly helped him, without a moment's hesitation, and despite the fact that he had sworn he wouldn't risk his neck for him, he had, several times, in the last 24 hours.

A familiar smirk curled around Draco's lips. "Oh, don't worry Potter, you're forever indebted to me."

Harry momentarily marveled at how easily he called him Potter, but then rolled his eyes, clapping the wizard's shoulder as he passed. "Thanks," he said again, and then sprinted off down the hall. He took the steps three at a time, his pulse running mad as he flew down the next foyer, rocketing towards Draco's bedroom. He sailed past another set of stairs, past the many doorways and alcoves hiding who knew how many secrets, and past a hoard of Death Eaters storming upstairs, their pounding footsteps and shouts of dissension far too loud to hear Harry's quiet, breathless laughter as he soared past them, diving into Draco's bedroom, hurtling himself into the fireplace, and disappearing into the night.

* * *

**A/N: And there we are! Hope y'all enjoyed it, I apologize for any mistakes, it was a bit rushed.**

**Again, the spells are from "The Adventures of Merlin". If y'all haven't seen it, I really recommend you check it out-it's brilliant! It's on Netflix!**


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